Stuck on London Time
by Babatomyfriends
Summary: Mondler's beginnings - the next level. Picks up a few weeks after 'Still on London Time in New York' left off. This time with a (hopefully) slightly cooler title. Reviews are very welcome, but please don't feel obligated or pressured in any way. Just enjoy! And see you in my traffic stats.
1. Secret Girlfriend

Finally he had a girlfriend again. It felt so good. Screw that. It felt amazing, awesome, it was the best feeling in the world. He had never realized until now just how much he had wanted it before, longed for it in fact, dreamed about it even.

True, this time it was a little different. He had never had to keep it secret before. From his very first girlfriend on he had always carried his heart on his sleeve, run around telling everybody about it, practically shouting it from the rooftops. Even with Janice. Especially the second time they had tried, when he had consciously and fully determined made an effort to commit to her, shut out all her annoying habits and traits and firmly concentrated on making their relationship work. He was very glad that it hadn't worked out, but for a while they had really succeeded – so much that it had even Joey quite worried. And it had felt great while it lasted, had made him feel so safe and content. And confident too, so much in fact that he wanted nothing more than to show off to people, rub their noses in his happiness, boast and gloat all day long. It was the best feeling in the world.

He couldn't do that with Monica however. Not only because their – was it really a relationship already? – was still secret, but also because it still seemed to be in some kind of test phase. He still wasn't sure, couldn't be really convinced that he was good enough for her, that he came up to her standards, that he really was everything she needed. He still felt that one false word, one wrong step, one screw-up too many could destroy everything. And leave him with nothing, or even less than nothing – he'd be so much worse off than before. She was so unbelievably hot, pretty much everything he had ever wanted, that the prospect of having to start over was too much to even contemplate. It had been hard even before her, how could he ever hope to find someone as hot and passionate after her? Would he even want to? He had always considered himself to be a late starter. It had taken him twenty-three years to lose his virginity and still six more until he felt he could pass himself off as a reasonably decent lover. Now that he was thirty, it was bound to get harder still. It would be far easier for her to find someone new than for him, he was sure about that. And far easier for her to get over him than for him to really let go of her. If it should ever come to that.

And did all that mean that he loved her? A year ago he would have said yes he did, would have been quite sure about it too, no doubts whatsoever. Like when he had been so sure that he loved Kathy when he had in fact only talked himself into it, had let his frustration about their situation escalate out of proportion, and it had ended with him putting her on a pedestal, idealizing her, and blinding himself to all the things that didn't conform with that dream image of her. He had convinced himself that she would be perfect for him if only he could have her, never realizing that he was more in love with the romantic image of the two of them sacrificing their love for friendship. That he had shared all his feelings with the others – except of course Joey when the best way to handle it should have been the exact opposite – had made things so much worse. The appallingly swift and easy way their relationship had folded like a house of cards at the first bump in the road had taught him to be more careful with his declarations of feelings that were in fact unfounded, had no solid basis other than illusions and dreams. And so while he did care for Monica deeply, wanted to be with her always and to make her happy, always desired her more than anything else, he still kept hesitating to label all those feelings as love. Not yet, that was, it was still too soon. What they had was still so fragile, so easy to damage. There would be time enough for that later. If this really worked out. They had come so far already with taking it one step at a time, hesitating and groping in the dark for the next foothold, occasionally stumbling on the way. But it needed a lot more work still.

Meanwhile he was still proud. Oh dear god, so proud and so enormously happy about what they had achieved. And thoroughly charmed with the thrill of it all, the fun they had fooling the others, conducting their affair right there under their noses without any of them getting wise to them. It wasn't easy, but somehow the problems, the precarious situations they often found themselves in, the need to wait for a chance to meet only added to the excitement, made the whole thing even more precious and valuable. And yes, addictive. So much that he could no longer imagine what it would be like if it all was revealed and out in the open and they could be … normal again. A normal couple, being together in the eyes of everyone, doing normal couply things, living a real life instead of a dream – that was what he couldn't quite imagine for them. At least not yet. It was too soon. They had been together for almost a month now. Tomorrow it would be exactly four weeks since Monica had come to his room in London and they had started doing it, and on the following Sunday it would be four weeks that they had been doing it in New York, still on London Time. Not enough to get careless, but hey, far more than enough for him to be absurdly, madly, wildly, over the top, exhilaratingly happy about it. Four weeks, they had made it through four weeks already without screwing up – well, not quite without screwing up, but still without any serious damage. It made him want to sing. And dance of course.

Standing in the subway station waiting for his train Chandler inadvertently started to tap his feet, closing his eyes and grinning goofily. Yeah, life was really good right now. Swell in fact. Never mind that it was Mid-October, already getting dark quite early in the evening, and that it had been a long frustrating day in the office, with rain on top of it too. He would meet the others in the Perk – including Monica, since she was working the dayshift at the restaurant this week and moreover would have the weekend free – for coffee and a bagel or muffin, they would talk and later that night they would meet at either her place or his, depending on the situation. Then they would plan the weekend or at least the next meeting. And have sex of course. Lots and lots and lots of it. And spend a good part of the night together, talking, snuggling, or just sleeping until the alarm went. Then wait for the next meeting. And so on. By now they had established a tentative routine that seemed to work pretty well. So far at least.

When the train rumbled in Chandler snapped out of his daydream and got on board, ignoring the two teenagers that made faces at him and imitated his dance steps. He was too happy to be self-conscious or even mortified.

From the subway station he went directly to Central Perk, taking his briefcase along in case he had to plead work at home in order to get out of going to a movie or whatever else the gang had thought up. He and Monica had pretty much perfected their range of excuses by now. If they couldn't do laundry – their favorite - it would be work at home for him, or lunch with a visiting customer or executive from one of the branch offices of his company. Or going to the dentist and/or the doctor's for a check-up or even to the gym – that bothersome membership he hadn't been able to get out of now finally turned out to be good for something. Or he could always pretend that he had to buy something, like the new mattress he had got two weeks ago, actually together with Monica though none of the others knew about that. Buying that had really been a lot of fun, and the mattress had indeed turned out to be much better for sleeping on – and the other stuff of course – than the old, crappy one. But there had been other stuff he had only pretended to buy and hadn't, meeting with Monica instead and going at it, as always, and still as fiercely and ardently as in their first week, as if there was no tomorrow, never really satisfied and always hungry for more. There was another thing that never ceased to amaze him: that she still wanted to do it with him every single time and never once turned him down. With Janice it had almost always been a struggle to get her in the mood for it and by the time she was ready he was often too exhausted for more than a quickie. With Kathy it had been easier, at least after he had figured out how to get her going, but she never had had much time or energy to spare, funneling all of it into her work. More often than not she had come to him all worked up and high, leaving it to him too get her down again and calm her. That had often turned out to be quite rewarding too, but invariably he had felt that there was something missing from it all.

When he entered the café the whole gang was there already, as he had thought, with Ross on the easy chair, the girls on the couch – Monica at the end near the bar – and Joey at the little table next to her. It was perfect because that way he could get on the other chair at the table and place himself between Joey and Monica where they could look at each other and even touch their feet without anyone noticing.

They were all listening to Phoebe telling them the latest news about one of her clients who had a serious OCD that caused him have a nervous breakdown if she didn't massage him exactly the same way at exactly the same hour to the minute at each of their sessions. No one noticed him until he arrived at the couch and Joey saw him and waved. While they greeted him he placed the briefcase casually on the backrest of the couch just to the left of Monica's head so it hid his hand from view as he gave her a quick tickle on the neck. She responded by leaning back and trapping his hand between her back and the couch, and then turned her head up to grin at him, her eyes sparkling. When he withdrew his hand and shifted the briefcase a little, she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

So, work at home, just as he had thought. No problem. He smiled, put the briefcase under the side table and went to the bar to get coffee and a muffin. When he returned Phoebe had finished her story and they were all laughing, Phoebe most of all. As always since her return from Montauk he was amazed about how fast she had recovered from her pregnancy with the triplets and the birth especially, physically as well as emotionally. Nobody who didn't know her would ever think now that less than a month ago she had been so heavily pregnant she had hardly fit through the door, and always looked so tired and worn with it. After the birth she had been listless and depressed for quite some time, even after the week spent in Montauk, until they had been at their wits end about what to do to help her; but she had bounced back with amazing speed when they'd decided to catch up on that weekend in Atlantic City. It did the trick and had been a lot of fun too. He had not been able to get Monica alone much, but it had still been worth it. And there was an idea - maybe that would be something he could do with Monica one of these weekends, go away somewhere to spend two days all alone by themselves. Celebrate another week that they made it through without getting caught.

Now Ross told them about his latest efforts to get Emily on the phone and the desperate tricks and measures he had resorted to to track her down, phoning everyone who knew her all over England and having to deal with weird accents and dialects he had never thought to hear, let alone be able to understand. And Joey reluctantly agreed to help him to talk to the bridesmaid again that night and Rachel suggested that they should all pitch in and take turns on the phone at Ross's, making it a sort of party. Ordinarily he would have loved to be part of it, but of course the chance to be alone with Monica was too good to miss.

"I have to work" he said with what he hoped was a suitably regretful expression. "Got to prepare for an important meeting tomorrow – you know how it is. We really tried to get those guys to come over on Monday, but no, they really want it tomorrow. Didn't want to miss the chance to live it up in New York over the weekend, those geeks."

"I have to work too" Monica chimed in. "That new sous-chef gets everything wrong, so my boss asked me to come and breathe down his neck for a bit, to get his ass into gear. His words, not mine."

"Don't overdo it or he'll end up doing everything half-assed ..." he remarked.

"Or go ass over tea-kettle" Ross added gleefully. Immediately everybody joined in with ass related terms until Monica put her hands to her ears and begged them to stop. And then everybody finished up and they left the café together. While the others waited at the curb for a taxi, he and Monica headed off for home and grabbed for each other's hands as soon as they had turned the corner. They kept their hands entwined as they walked up to their building and went up the stairs to their apartments. There he ducked into no. 19 quickly to deposit his briefcase, coat and tie in his bedroom and check on the birds, then he came back out straight into her arms for a long deep kiss on the doorstep of her apartment. Still kissing they entered it, and he kicked the door shut behind them. They crossed over to her bedroom still holding each other and maintaining the kiss. In her bedroom they started to undress each other slowly, taking their time with it – it wasn't often that they had the luxury of time on such occasions, and when they did, they liked to make the most of it. Chandler actually let her fold his suit pants and shirt neatly over her chair and put his shoes under it instead of kicking them all over the room. Then they stood in front of the bed, close together with their arms wrapped around each other, savoring the moment, letting their bodies get reacquainted all over again. At last he nudged her a little and she let herself sink backwards on the bed while he went on his knees just before it and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face against her lap, kissing and nibbling at her mount. She sighed contentedly and then moaned, clenching her hands in his hair. When she drew up her knees, he gently pushed her thighs apart and held them down while he pressed closer and deeper and started to apply his tongue. Monica bucked against him and screamed, softly at first and then getting louder with each further stroke of his tongue. Chandler's head was swimming and he felt like he was losing himself in her, shutting out everything around him so he could funnel all he had to give on her. When she started to draw him away, panting and squirming, he almost didn't notice at first. At last he released her and she scooted backwards on the bed, drawing him up and over her urgently. Then he sank down on her and groaned when their bodies slid together and seemed to join almost by themselves without any assistance or effort from either of them. They started off slowly, holding themselves back as much as possible, only picking up speed when their arousal got too much for them. Now he was getting louder too, groaning and shouting like he had never been able before her without feeling acutely embarrassed. Monica had freed him of that and now he loved how it added to the excitement when there was no need to be quiet.

Just as he sensed her climax approaching, she dug her nails into his shoulders, shuddering, and the pain turned into a welcome distraction for him, enabling him to hold out a little longer while she rode out her orgasm to the last. Then he let go too, let himself fall and dissolve into her, relaxing until it felt like he would not be able to move so much as a finger anytime soon. He felt her hands on his back, stroking gently where her nails had just dug into his skin, and her calves and feet on the back of his thighs and buttocks. Somehow he found the strength to raise his head and search for her mouth, kissing her with his eyes closed, without any desire, just sweet tenderness. They remained like this for some time until he managed to heave himself up and away from her, stretching out on his back beside her like a beached whale. When her hand groped for his, he closed it around hers tightly.

As always she recovered much faster than he ever could, getting up on her elbow and running her other hand playfully over his chest while he was still catching his breath. But he managed to catch her hand in his and entwine their fingers.

"Friday no. 4 coming up" she said softly and he grunted assent.

"I can't believe it's been four weeks already. Four weeks!"

"Mmmhhm."

"One whole month. We should celebrate that."

"Mmmmh …. Mmmmh?"

"Hey, are you falling asleep on me?"

"Hmm? Um, no – I'm not asleep." But it actually was an effort to open his eyes again. Or at least one of them. Monica was staring intently at him and he smiled at her blissfully, almost closing his eyes again.

"Um, okay, celebrate – yeah, by all means. Let's."

"Can you be here at four?"

"I think so. Should be no problem. So?"

"Then I'll be waiting for you. With something special." Her eyes were sparkling as she lowered her head to kiss him. He drew her closer and over him, and gradually his weariness dissolved again, as he felt her trim body pressing against his.

"Something special? Like what?"

"You'll see" she grinned and then moaned when his hands slid down her back to her buttocks, cupping them, while his fingertips slipped between her thighs.

"Okay, then I'll … bring something" he panted, suddenly wide awake again, as her legs parted until she straddled his hips and started to rub herself against him.

"Like what?"

"Aahh ... umm ... You'll see."


	2. Secret Boyfriend

And now it was Friday, 4 p.m., exactly four weeks to the day, almost to the very hour of what they had started in that hotel room in London.

Monica was lying on her bed. Everything was ready. She had showered and put on her sexiest fragrance, the one Chandler claimed turned him into a wild beast. The blinds were lowered and she had put a red silk scarf on the bedroom lamp so the room was bathed in a soft red golden glow. Last but not least she had put on her 'something special'. It was black and clingy and seemed to consist entirely of laces and filmy shimmering fabric of essentially nothing.

She turned on her back and spread her arms wide, then drew up her legs a little and opened them invitingly, trying to imagine how it would go. He would knock on the door and come in, freezing on the spot while he took it all in, his jaw dropping and his eyes bulging. Then he'd shut the door, turn the key as a precaution if he didn't forget, and approach the bed, still open-mouthed, maybe even drooling (well not actually drooling, that would be too messy). He would put a knee on the bed and bend over her, or maybe even jump on the bed right over her, straddling her, and maybe moan and growl at her, and then they would kiss. He might actually take a few seconds to tear out of his clothes, but her guess was that he would go for her right away as he was. She would bury her hands in his hair as he let his lips wander all over her, snuffling in her scent, and sliding his hands over her breasts, as he went down on her. Then he would kneel between her legs and she would hook her legs over his shoulders and cross her ankles over his back, and he would lift up her hips groping for the buttons and find out how that black garment of nothing could be opened at the bottom, and then he would cradle her buttocks in both hands and press his face against her mount, snuffling, nibbling, licking her, just coming up again long enough to tear his shirt over his head and fling it away and then carry on. She would clench her hands in his hair and drum her legs on his back in her throes, convulsing and screaming uncontrollably as her arousal reached its peak. At last she would pull him up and over her and claw at the zipper and button of his pants, hooking her thumbs over the waistbands and push his pants and boxers together down over his hips. His penis, by then already fully erect and throbbing, would spring free and she would grab it and hold it, rub it a little, savoring the feel of it in her palms, its warmth, the way it quivered in her hands. She would brace her feet on the bed and raise her hips to hold the tip of his penis against her entrance, press it against her clitoris, stroke herself with it a few times, then let it slowly slide inside her, deeper and deeper, and it would fill her up, turn her insides to mush, to a hot quivering goo, would make her feel like no other man had ever made her feel before, never in all her life. He would bend forward and kiss her as he pushed deeper and she would taste herself on him as their lips pressed together and their tongues entwined. He would start to move, push against her, slowly at first and then harder and harder, and she would pump her hips against him, answering his every move, increasing their speed, until their climaxes would overtake them, roll through them, letting him collapse on her …

Just imagining it all turned her on so much already that they could probably skip the foreplay altogether when he arrived. By the way, where was he? Would he really be late again, on this day of all days? It was five minutes past four, maybe he wanted to make his entrance at 4.15 hours exactly, like she had in London in his hotel room …

But no, there was his knock. Bless him for being punctual. She took a deep breath and turned on her side, putting one knee up and toying at her cleavage with one hand.

"Come in …. I've been waiting for you …" in as sexy and promising a voice she could muster.

The door opened, and it was Rachel, not Chandler. Rachel, with her eyes on the bunch of mail in her hands that she was still sorting, and striding in –

"Hi, I just wanted - - - AAAHHHH, OH MY GOD, Monica, oh my god!" And she fled the bedroom with her hands over her eyes, in total shock. Monica who felt as if an ice cold shower had hit her, grabbed her bathrobe and ran after her roommate, confronting her in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry … I'm sorry - I - I was - was taking a nap!"

Rachel stared at her open-mouthed. "Since **when** do you take naps in **that** position?!"

Good question. And her mind was a total blank. Oh god, why why why did that have to happen, now of all times? What to tell her, what to tell her, would everything come out now? No, oh please no.

"Oh God Monica, tell me you were waiting for a guy! Please tell me you were waiting for a guy!" Rachel pleaded, almost in hysterics now.

"Yes. Yes, I was. A guy. From work!" The very idea made her cringe, but if this actually worked - "I'm seeing a guy from work! Ha!"

And bless her, Rachel swallowed it hook, line and sinker. All of a sudden she seemed to have gotten over her shock. "Ooohh, that cute waiter guy from your restaurant, the one that looks like a non-threatening Ray Liotta?"

Oh my god, not that jerk, who kept spelling "quiche" like "quicke" – and wasn't he gay too?

"Uh-huh, that one!" Anybody really, as long as she fell for it. And thank god, it actually looked like she had her convinced.

"Okay, just give me a second and I'll be out of your hair. I'm just going to grab a jacket, and when I get back, I want _every little detail_ …!"

There was the drawback. Now she would have to embellish the story, paint it in the most vivid colors imaginable just to satisfy her …

Her breath caught when they both heard a knock on the door.

"Maybe that's him!" Rachel smiled conspiratorially and actually went to open the door. Oh my god, oh my god …

"Okay, umm, okay, umm …" The door opened and – "It's just Joey and Ross." Today must be her lucky day. Unless there were any more close calls? Surely Chandler would have seen those two on the stairs? If he was already in the building and not delayed?

Joey made a beeline for her fridge as usual, and Ross was talking on his cell phone – thank god, he wasn't taking any notice of her in her bathrobe. Joey, who did notice, but for a wonder didn't comment on it, just scowled when Rachel asked why they weren't at the movie as planned.

"Ross was talking so loud on his phone they threw us out!" he grumbled.

"I **had** to talk loud because the movie was loud!" Ross spat.

"He's talking to London!" Joey shrugged. Yeah, figured. A wonder he wasn't broke already from the phone bill. And he still hadn't tracked Emily down, only some members of her family …

"I-I-I don't care if I said some other girl's name you prissy, old twit!"

… who had to bear the brunt of his temper instead. Yeah, right, way to suck up to the family – Joey was right on the money there.

And then Chandler finally entered, blissfully unaware, grinning happily and waving a bottle of champagne. His own "something special" to celebrate their fourth week. He caught sight of the others and froze in mid-grin, then changed gear with amazing speed. She never failed to be impressed by how fast he could think on his feet.

"I'm so glad you guys are all here!" He offered them the champagne bottle with his goofiest grin. "My office finally got wrinkle free fax paper!"

.

.

It was a wrench, but she had no choice – if she wanted to get changed, she had to let Rachel take care of the glasses for Chandler's champagne, while she escaped to her bedroom as unobtrusively as possible. Once there she hurriedly threw on her sweats over the sexy nothing and removed the red scarf. Saved once more. And by a hair's breadth again. If Chandler had come sooner – well, actually Rachel would never have walked in uninvited, but as sure as hell would have gotten an earful at least. Another lucky escape. One of these days their luck was bound to turn – it didn't bear thinking.

When she came out of the bedroom again, everything seemed under control. Ross was still screaming down his phone and Joey had switched his beer for a glass of the champagne, clinking with Rachel and Chandler at the kitchen table. When she joined them, Chandler offered her a glass and clinked her with his and for a long moment their eyes met. She tried to stand as close to him as possible and still make it look casual. The champagne was excellent, cool and smooth, with an exciting tickle as it went down. It was really a shame that Rachel and Joey already had almost had two thirds of the bottle between them. It would have been perfect for before and/or afterwards … Oh well, spilt milk. This wasn't the last champagne on earth and there would surely be other occasions to enjoy some.

Then Rachel was sidling closer again, with that dangerous shine in her eyes.

"So Mon, what about your secret boyfriend, shouldn't he be here by now?"

She shrugged, very conscious of Chandler's sardonic glance. "He must have been held up somehow. Why?"

"Well, if he makes it, give him my regards." Rachel put on her jacket again. "And remember, I want to know everything! Oh, I wish I didn't have to leave, but I've got an office thing – oh god, I'm late. Anyway, I'm sooo glad you finally have someone! I'm so happy for you!"

"Well … thanks. I'm not sure I'll tell him – but thanks …" she finished lamely. Rachel shot her a mischievous glance and left. Chandler grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Secret boyfriend?!" he asked innocently. Joey had wandered off again and was watching Ross as he argued on his phone, but still she didn't dare do more than glare at him.

"I don't care that your cousin's a divorce lawyer. He could be the queen's divorce lawyer for all I care. I want to talk to my wife! My wife! And I'm gonna keep calling until I can talk to her, you can write that down and chew on it! Write it – hello? HELLO? Did you hang up on - Oh no, oh god –" Ross was staring at his phone, shoulder's slumping.

"What is it?" Joey asked solicitously as Ross shook the phone and tapped it.

"My phone, it's dead … I need to recharge it. Great. Just great."

"Thank god!" said Joey fervently and Ross shot him a withering glance, then sighed. "Alright, I guess it's no use today anyway. Want to see if we can catch that movie at the next show?"

Joey jumped up wordlessly and almost shoved Ross out of the apartment. Monica just barely intercepted him at the door in time to retrieve her champagne flute from him. And then they were gone, and she and Chandler stared at each other as they realized that they were alone after all. She took a deep breath and grinned.

"Is there any champagne left?"

Chandler held the bottle against the light. "A little bit … here you go." He topped up their glasses, until nothing was left in the bottle, then drew her to him with one arm, while he raised his glass to her.

"To London Time." They took a sip and then almost simultaneously put back the glasses on the table and reached out for each other. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face against his shoulder, while he stroked her hair and held her close. She raised her head to kiss him, closing her eyes. And then giggled, when he came upon an edge of the black nothing under her sweatshirt and frowned at it.

"So what was that all about with the secret boyfriend?"

"Rachel walked in on me. She knocked – and I thought it was you …"

"Oh. Oh!" he grinned broadly. "Really? Good thing I was late then."

She cuffed him in the ribs. "It's not funny!"

"No, no you're right. Actually it's very serious. Do you realize that if the others hadn't come in, we would have been doing it now for half an hour already? This is unacceptable really. I shall take measures."

"Well, what are we waiting for then? Who knows when they'll be back …"

He smiled and began to steer her towards the bedroom, then remembered the glasses and took them up.

"Soooo – did you at least give Rachel an eyeful?"

"Oh yeah. She was totally shocked. Ran out as if she'd seen a ghost."

Chandler stopped in front of the bedroom, smiling dreamily. "Um, would you mind …?"

She laughed, took the glasses from him and kissed him briefly on the corner of his mouth.

"Nope. Just give me a minute."


	3. Do the Dance

It was shaping up to a perfectly normal and peaceful Saturday morning. Start of the weekend. Breakfast at Monica's. His favorite brand of cornflakes. Phoebe as serene and cheerful as usual, and moreover in apparently good health again. Rachel still asleep. Joey still on the phone with his agent, trying to make sense of her ravings. Ross still on the phone talking to someone in England – a wonder his cell wasn't permanently stuck to his ear yet – but still going about it in a quite polite and calm manner for a change, even when he got hopelessly entangled in those weirdly long numbers. The weather even a little sunny, a blessing after all that rain. Monica still looking hot as usual, but also so cool and unruffled that nobody would guess she had spent most of the evening of the day before and a good part of the night doing it with him, over and over, as if there would be no tomorrow, or in other words, as always.

And week four of London Time almost completed. It was a little early for fireworks, but still.

Could life be any sweeter?

Then Joey entered, resplendent in a tuxedo – a very familiar tuxedo at that.

"Oh nononononono – vomitux, no-no, vomitux!"

Oh god, he remembered it all so vividly, live and in Technicolor. Not that he wanted to. But he couldn't help it. Yeeeooowww.

But Joey apparently put all that behind him. "Don't worry, I had it dry-cleaned!" He smiled broadly at Monica who frowned at the tuxedo curiously.

"Vomitux -? Who vomited on … um, you know what, what's up, Joe?"

Never let it be said that she wasn't a fast learner.

Joey went on to explain that he was going on the PBS telethon and his agent had arranged for him to be co-host – hence the tux. Then Phoebe chipped in, complaining bitterly about PBS and the Sesame Street, who had never replied to her letter – apparently unaware of the fact that they couldn't have done so, because they didn't have thumbs. He got a slight warning cuff from Monica after that comment and decided to shut up again. Not that he would have stood a chance in the sparring match about selfishness that suddenly sprang up between Joey and Phoebe and that they chose to slug out with him stuck between them and getting more and more annoyed. In spite of his rather wonky argumentation Joey left the field as winner, with Phoebe fuming to be avenged. Monica had early on withdrawn to the easy chair with the paper. Very wise of her, but a pity, he would have liked to have footsies with her, or tickle the back of her knee unobtrusively under the table. Oh well.

And then Ross phone rang – with impeccable timing, since this must have been the first time that it wasn't busy this morning – and his eyes nearly fell from his head when he realized that it was –

"Emily? EMILY! Oh my god, it's Emily!"

Everything else was forgotten as they gathered around him, dumb and staring with surprise. Ross ran around like a beheaded chicken, shushing everyone, waving, picking up a lamp and giving it to Chandler who was at a loss for words for once.

"Emily everyone! Shush-shush-shhst!" He listened again, the phone pressed to his ear so hard Chandler thought it would start to smoke soon.

"No wait! Look, wait! Okay, you can hang up, but I'm gonna keep calling! I'm gonna, I'm gonna call everyone in England if that's what it takes to get you to talk to me!"

Hadn't he already done that? Maybe he missed out a few people in the Shetlands or the Orkneys. Nevertheless, things seemed to finally look up. Finally.

"She's talking!" Ross whispered exaltedly to them, but shushed them irritably when they tried to cheer him, albeit quietly, and then retired to the TV chair and when that was still too loud for him, to the balcony. Chandler carefully put the lamp back, only to have it picked up and put in its proper place a few centimeters to the side by Monica – oh well, only to be expected. Joey left for his telethon after one final crushing remark to Phoebe – something about Santa Claus, or was it the sanity clause? Both were equably improbable and thus fit the two quite admirably. He returned to the table to finish his cornflakes, but thought better of it, when Phoebe, still muttering, plopped down beside him and almost upended her teacup into his bowl.

"Unselfish deeds … Chandler, do you know an unselfish good deed?"

"Sure."

"And what is it?"

"Letting me finish my cornflakes …?"

Phoebe just glared at him balefully.

.

.

Some time later, after he had finished all his usual Saturday morning chores – well, just shopping for groceries and dropping off some dry-cleaning, everything else was just too much of a bother right now - he wound up in Central Perk, where Gunther had reserved the big couch for their Saturday noon coffees as always. He was the first one there and while he sipped his coffee and skimmed the paper he couldn't help wondering if Monica was still upstairs being grilled by Rachel and Phoebe about her new secret boyfriend. Just what would she tell them? Would she really be able to hold back and keep their secret? He knew from past experience – very painful experience – that the girls were used to share everything. Literally. So how long would she be able to keep their secret? And if she did keep it, what would she tell them instead?

But that kind of speculating made him crazy and he tried to distract himself by thinking up places where Monica and he could be having sex next. That always worked. So far their beds – both their beds now that he had a decent mattress – were still their favorites, but there were a lot of other places that they'd used at a pinch, and a lot of them had worked really well. Not much left around their building really. Oh, but how about here, in the café? They spent so much time here, it was high time he gave it some thought. Hmm. Toilets were out, he could never do it in there. The counter? Behind the counter? The couch? He'd love to try the couch, but they'd have to find a way to sneak into the place after hours, and for that they would need a key …

When Monica tweaked him on the back of his neck, he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Whoa! All lost in thought? What have you been thinking about?"

"Actually … I was thinking about how we could do it here. And where here."

"Oh." Monica sat down at the little table and frowned. "Here? Yeah, I guess it could work."

"The couch?"

She made a face. "Not so much. So many people sitting on that all the time … Actually, Rachel did it there once."

"With Ross?"

"God, no, he'd never do it here. No, with Paolo I think. On the couch – and oh yes, in the closet."

"Closet? What closet? Oh that? That's a closet?"

"Actually I think it's a storage room. For supplies and tableware and stuff. Rachel said that Gunther is afraid to go in there during opening hours ever since he walked in on people doing it once."

"Hmm. Interesting."

She grinned mischievously. "Oh yeah."

"So, did Rachel and Phoebe give you the third degree?"

Monica rolled her eyes. "What do you think? Well, Rachel did. Phoebe is still hung up about Joey. She had an idea for a good deed just now, at least I think that's why she ran out so suddenly. Rachel's bound to be here any moment, so keep cool please!"

"Of course I'll keep cool. When have I not – okay, I see what you mean."

Monica shot him a withering look and got up to get her coffee. Chandler picked up his paper once more, but instead of reading it he looked at the closet. Funny, how he had never noticed it before. How big would it be? Would they have to do it standing up?

He got sidetracked again when Rachel came in and curled up on the other end of the couch with her coffee, a dangerous glint in her eyes – like a kitten trying to get at the cookie jar.

"So Chandler …" oh so casually. "Have you heard about Monica's secret boyfriend?"

Cool, play it cool. "Uhh, yeah. She uh, might've mentioned him, yeah ..." He pretended to be absorbed in his paper again. Rachel narrowed her eyes.

"So Mon, when are we going to meet this new secret waiter man?"

Waiter? She said her secret boyfriend was a waiter?

"Ohh, he's really shy. I don't think he's up to meeting everyone yet."

"Yeah, I don't think he's up to meeting everyone yet." He confirmed, unnecessarily maybe, but it was so much fun to tease Rachel back and watch her getting worked up.

"I don't care! I wanna meet this guy who's the best sex she ever had!"

The best sex?! THE BEST?! He couldn't believe his ears.

"Really?! That's what you heard?" Oh god, let there be trumpets and cheers and fireworks. He turned to Monica with a huge grin on his face. The best sex she ever had? "You said that?"

"I might've said that." He didn't notice her expression, just heard the words. Yes! Yes, it was true! He couldn't help laughing, or rather cackling out loud. He was in full gloating mode now.

"Why is that funny?!" That and her cuff brought him down to earth again. Well, not quite, a part of him was still soaring the clouds. And still gloating.

"Because I'm very happy for him!" What did it matter anyway, they were used to him being weird. "And you, you lucky dog!" He cuffed her back with the paper and grinned broadly. What a day. What a great day.

Even Ross coming in at that moment with his usual long face and the news that Emily did want to patch up things – YAY - but only if he moved to London – oops - could not distract him for long.

"I don't know, I mean I can't leave Ben!"

"Well, you could just video-conference with him ..." he offered and winced when Ross stared at him. "I'm not ready to have a child …"

And then Ross got so hung up on this crazy idea to get Carole and Susan to move to London with Ben for him that even Monica could not dissuade him. After some more useless arguing Ross left to spring his idea to his ex-wife and Monica remembered that the telethon with Joey would start soon, so she and Rachel left again, while he stayed a little longer, savoring his success, reveling in it.

This was just too good. He knew that what he and Monica had was special, a lot more than he had ever dreamed of having, but it was one thing to believe it, and quite another to actually have it confirmed, and from someone else too – that was the best ever. It went quite a long way too to assuage his deepest fear – that she would break this off when she had enough – because why would she do that if he was the best she ever had?

The best she ever had. That meant, better than everyone she had ever been with. Everyone. Including Richard.

Really? Better than Richard? Oh no, that was guy #1 again. He hadn't heard from him since the day at the hospital 3 weeks ago, and had even hoped he'd chucked him for good. Nope, no chance of that.

Well, she said the best. That means better than Richard. Guy #2. The voice of reason. Too bad nobody ever listened to him.

You can't be sure of that. I mean, it's Richard! The Love-of-her-life-Richard!

But she broke up with him.

Only because he didn't want children. And it took her ages to get over him. In fact, she might still not be over him. Remember, how she slept with him again when they met again?

And broke it up again afterwards.

But if he should turn up again … who do you think she would choose? Seriously, who?

Chandler groaned. The two guys were driving him crazy. Couldn't a guy gloat in peace for a minute? Enjoy the rewards of his hard work? Celebrate his success? That was all he wanted to do just now, revel, enjoy, dance that happy dance … and show her how much it meant to him, how happy it made him.

There was an idea. Well, why not kill two birds with one stone?

When he entered Monica's apartment, the three girls were sitting around the living-room table talking. The TV was still off, so the telethon could not be on yet. It was perfect. No way she wouldn't believe him if he did it in front of witnesses.

"Hey, Monica? Can I ask you a cooking question?"

"Sure!" Oh, how cool she looked again. How calm and collected. He sat down next to Rachel and took a deep breath.

"If you're cooking on the stove, does that mean that your new secret boyfriend is better in bed than Richard?!"

Monica closed her eyes and winced. While he stared at her hungry for her reaction, ignoring Rachel's admonishing cuff, it turned out that Rachel wanted to know that too. Monica raised her hands in despair.

"Well, you know I - I think I'm going to respect the privacy of my new secret boyfriend."

Alright, here we go.

"Why?! I mean if this guy was **me** and it was **me** who had learned that it was **me** who was the best you'd ever had, I'd be going like this!"

And he jumped on the table and delivered his happy dance there and then, putting everything he had in it, grinning goofily with joy. He had everything down pat, the roll of the hips, the wagging of his ass, the twisting of his knees, the swaying of his arms, dancing in place so there was never any danger of upsetting that bowl of chips …

Of course the girls were less than impressed. Phoebe just rolled her eyes and then ignored him, and Rachel just watched him with an indulgent smile. Well, the dance hadn't been for their benefit anyway. He had done it for Monica.

Monica, who just sighed and shook her head. Monica, who then got up and went into the kitchen to fetch a cleaning rag. Who waited until he had finished and got off the table, and then wordlessly handed him the rag with a meaningful glance at the dirt his shoes had left on the table.

But he still counted it a success.


	4. Thou Shalt Not Gloat

Just what was it with guys and their constant need to act like jerks? Why did he keep reverting to that behavior, and always, always in front of the others? What in the world drove him to do that, even though he had to know that it was completely unnecessary, would impress no one, and moreover would make her too feel like a total fool?

It was at those times most of all when she was fiercely glad that they had managed to keep their relationship secret so far. Just seeing Phoebe roll her eyes resignedly and then ignore him made her want to sink in the floor. No matter that he was in truth the best sex she'd ever had, and not just the best sex – the best time ever. No matter that no one before him had managed to keep her aroused and excited all the time throughout four weeks – four weeks! - AND made her feel so comfortable and cherished at the same time too. They had had so many good times together, times when she could laugh with him, be happy and carefree, and, most importantly, herself. Still she just couldn't bear it when he went on one of his whims, decided to play the clown, made a complete fool of himself – went all Chandler in fact. It just was too much. It really irked her too, not only because Phoebe and Rachel never took him serious – never had and never would – but because by belittling himself so much, by acting the fool, how could he take himself seriously? And how could she take him serious if he didn't? And how could she go on believing that he was taking her and their relationship serious?

And she needed him to be serious about it so much. He was so good for her, had done her a world of good already. She was very close to falling in love with him – at times she suspected that she already had – and she desperately wanted him to be someone she could love without qualms, without reservations, because he was worthy of it, because he was – perfect. How could she love him, when she was so ashamed of the way he acted in front of her friends? It seemed like every time he had won her over completely with his sweetness, his understanding, the way he made love to her, he would make a complete turnaround and show her that all this didn't count because he would always remain a fool at heart, a jokester, a jerk who could not be taken seriously.

They would have to talk about this. While she could not imagine that he really wasn't aware of how much his ridiculous acting irritated her, she thought that maybe he just needed a little push. An eye-opener. Just something to bring him down to earth again.

And yet she didn't really want to talk about this. Not while she was still so annoyed. Why couldn't he realize it by himself? He was certainly intelligent enough for that. Why didn't he see it? Why did he let himself be carried away so easily always? And would it always be like that, would she always have to explain it to him? It wearied her even to think about it.

Well, time enough for that later. For now she could let it go, since he had simmered down again and also cleaned the table quite nicely, and then there was the telethon to watch. Joey was nowhere to be seen though, and soon Rachel got bored and remembered that she had to do some laundry if she wanted to have something to wear next week. Phoebe was still racking her brain for a good deed that was also unselfish. And then Ross entered to tell them about his latest talk with Emily.

"So I asked Emily if she would come to New York, and she said yes."

Oh thank god, finally some good news. They all cheered, until Ross cut them off again:

"No-no-no! Only if I promise never to see Rachel again."

Oh my god. As much as she understood Emily's take, how would that even be feasible?

"What?! You can't—what did you tell her?"

"I told her I'd have to think about it. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to make this kind of a decision? I'm **actually** asking you!"

Yes, how could he, and how could they advise him? It was a pretty dilemma. He could not cut Rachel out of his life any more than they could, but he also could not expect Emily to put up with her.

If only things had worked out better with those two. It had started off so great, so magically, like a fairy-tale. She had been so depressed at the time Ross and Emily met, and watching them fall in love, courting across the ocean, and yes, helping things along and encouraging Ross – maybe a little too much, she realized now rather guiltily – had brought her out of her own gloom and put her on a high again. And if it hadn't been for Ross and Emily's whirlwind courtship and the wedding in London, she would still be where she had been half a year ago, still without Chandler …

"Thanks for the help, problem solved." Ross dropped down on the couch beside her, looking as disgusted with himself as much as with them, and her heart ached for him. Just then the phone rang and it was Joey, calling from the telethon. Apparently there had been a mix-up with his agent – so what else was new? - and now he was on TV without actually being on TV. Well, he managed to let them see his hand at least – unmistakable too in the tux sleeve – until his colleague slapped him away.

"Oooh, I got an idea! Be right back!" Phoebe exclaimed suddenly and shot out of the door, without even taking her handbag. Or her coat. Chandler left too, to check on the birds, or so he said, but she knew that it was actually an invitation for her to spend some time with him. For a moment she balked at this – wouldn't it be better to let him stew for a while? – but then she decided to have it over with, rather than watching Ross still brooding and hardly taking in anything else, or the telethon with Joey still off-screen.

When she entered apartment 19 Chandler was just admonishing the birds not to watch Emeril Live on the cooking channel and it almost made her laugh. Almost. And when he smiled at her so happily, she almost relented again. Almost.

"Listen, I need that broiling pan that Joey borrowed the other day …?" She didn't really, but it was as good an excuse as any. His face fell.

"Oh that was yours? Uh, yeah, we used it when the duck was throwing up caterpillars."

Actually she had suspected as much. For what seemed like the thousandth time she vowed never to let Joey borrow anything again, for all the good it would do.

"_William Sonoma_, fall catalog, Page 27" she said wearily.

"Expect it in 4-6 weeks" he readily assured her. And then:

"Hey, umm, Joey's going to be at the telethon for the rest of the day, we have the whole place to ourselves."

Here we go. "Yeah, so?"

He put on that gleeful smirk again.** "**Well I just thought maybe you'd wanna book some time with the **best** you ever had ...?"

Oh god. He was still soaring high, basking in his triumph. How to get this through to him, how to make him see …?

"You know what - Champ? I think I'll pass."

His face fell and he stared at her almost comically dumbfounded. "Why?!"

No, words wouldn't do, they weren't enough. Better let him taste his own medicine. "Why?" She jumped a little forward and then started to cavort and twist in place, imitating his dance and exaggerating it some more, making it as ridiculous and idiotic as it had looked to her.

Chandler grimaced as if he had bitten on a lemon and pushed his hands into his pockets.

"What's your point?"

Had he still not gotten it? Lord have mercy on us.

"With all that stupid gloating, would **you** want to sleep with you?"

For a moment it seemed that he did see, but then his defiance got the better of him once more.

"Well, I think I'd be a little out of my league, but I'd give it a shot!"

She threw up her hands. "Fine. Why don't you do just that, make yourself happy. I don't have time for this." And she rushed out before he could stop her, before the sudden white-hot anger could overwhelm her. Anger at him – but also at herself.

She thought she heard him call out after her, but ignored it and strode back into her apartment. Ross was still there, staring unseeing at the TV, and just shook his head wearily when she put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. She felt at a loss what to do. The bathroom needed to be cleaned, but she wasn't in the mood for it right now. Something to cheer them all up? Hmm, maybe cookies?

By the time she got out the bowl and had all the ingredients ready, Phoebe returned, in a sour mood and with a nasty swelling on her arm from a bee-sting, the result of another failure in her mission to prove Joey wrong. Ross suddenly snapped out of his gloomy meditation and took his leave, mumbling about getting something from his apartment to help him. While she and Phoebe got the dough ready, Chandler came back in, deadpan again and seemingly unconcerned.

"Oh, what you're making, cookies?" Thankfully Phoebe already slapped his hand away from the bowl with the dough before she had to. Then he noticed the swelling on her arm.

"Hey, what'd you do there?" Phoebe grimaced.

"I let a bee sting me. I thought it would be a good deed."

"A good deed? But the bee probably –"

"Died, yeah, I know, Joey told me that already. It was a crappy idea. But you should know what that's like."

"Me? Why? Yeah, I guess you're right." That actually made her do a double take.

"What's with you? And incidentally, why are you so excited about Monica's boyfriend?"

He put on his most innocent face. "Why, because I'm happy for her. She deserves the best! Doesn't she?" When he looked at her grinning she glared at him.

"Well, yes, obviously. But it almost sounds to me as if you'd like a piece of him too." Phoebe commented drily. Chandler threw up his hands resignedly and retreated to the couch.

"That's the Sonoma on the table" she called after him and grinned as he rolled his eyes. But then he actually picked it up and settled on the couch with it. For a while there was peace, with only the half-muted sounds from The Cirque du Soleil on the TV filling the time until the telethon came on again, and she concentrated on getting the dough right, with Phoebe adding the flour.

"Um, quick broiling pan question—" Chandler quipped from the couch.

More cooking questions? She shot him a withering look.

"Yes, it really does cost that much. Maybe next time your duck can puke in something from Pottery Barn." He actually winced at that and she enjoyed her triumph. For a moment at least.

Then Ross came back in, with a Magic Eight ball of all things that he actually expected to help him solve his problem. And Phoebe even backed him up by declaring that it was definitely not a toy. What was with everybody, was she the only sane person left around here?

"Well, I don't know what else to do. I mean, I either keep my wife and lose one of my-my-my best friends or I keep my friend and get divorced the second time before I'm 30! So if anyone has a better suggestion, let's hear it! 'Cause I got nothing! All right, don't be shy, any suggestion will do."

Chandler had gotten up from the couch and approached the table, and she studiously ignored him as he stood rather close to her. He had nothing to offer to Ross's problem either. Ross glared at them and then sat down at the table, addressing the Magic Eight Ball in his hands.

"Magic Eight Ball, should I never see Rachel again?"

They all held their breaths, craning their heads as he rolled it in his hands. She sensed Chandler bending forward behind her and shot him a warning glance that made him hurriedly withdraw his already outstretched hand and put it into his pocket again. Ross squinted at the script that had turned up.

"Ask again later. Later is not good enough!" He shook the ball violently and held it up again. "Ask again later. What the hell! This is broken! It's broken!"

Suddenly she had an idea that she just couldn't resist. "All right, let me see." She took the ball from him and held it so only she could read the message.

"Will Chandler have sex tonight?" she asked it, then turned it around and pretended to read the answer. "Don't count on it." Actually it didn't say that, but the expression on his face was just priceless. And totally worth it. "Seems like it works to me!"

Ross didn't seem quite convinced, but grudgingly tried one more time.

"Should I never see Rachel again?"

Of course Rachel had to enter at the exact moment, and once again the Magic Eight Ball judgement was avoided. Ross fumbled for an excuse that involved seeing a movie that actually no one except Rachel was interested in, and then left with his Magic Eight Ball as soon as Rachel had gone into her room to put her laundry away. Chandler too went out wordlessly, without even helping himself to some cookies, and she heard him slamming the door of his apartment as he went in. It gave her a pang and put a damper on her mood again. She curled up on the easy chair with milk and cookies, and watched more TV with Phoebe, until the telethon came back on. At this Phoebe finally hit on the one unselfish good deed that had been glaringly obvious all along and called Joey's telethon number to make a pledge. Only to have her plan backfire on her when it actually helped Joey appear on TV, which made her so happy it wasn't unselfish anymore. Which proved Joey right once more. There really seemed to be no unselfish good deeds. At least not today.

Rachel came back out, all set and eager to go to the movies, but Phoebe, who had by then abandoned her scheme, only wanted to go home. Rachel went over to apartment 19 to enlist Chandler and came back with a rather puzzled expression and shrugging.

"What's with Chandler? He said he'd rather play with the duck than go to the movies?"

"Figures …" said Phoebe absentmindedly and collected her bag and coat. Monica jumped up and went into the kitchen to collect her cleaning gear.

"Mon, what about you, wanna go to the movies? Oh … um, can't you do that later? Come on, it's Stella!"

"No. Sorry, but I'm really not in the mood for it." She snapped on her rubber gloves decisively to underline that statement. Rachel started to speak, then thought better of it and shrugged. "Fine. Have fun. I'll ask Ross."

Then she was all alone again, in the bathroom, wetting the cleaning rags, and then just standing there, biting her lip and clenching her fists, torn between anger and regret.

'Go to him' the regret whispered. 'It's not that bad. So he gloated a little. It's only natural for a guy like him. He'll be normal again and then you can be together again.'

'He needs to stew some more' her anger retorted. 'Otherwise he'll never learn. He'll get even worse.'

She violently rammed the toilet brush into the bowl as if she wanted to bore a new hole.

'But do you really want to give it all up just because he went all Chandler again? It's what he is. He can't help it. You have to accept it.'

'Maybe. But not now. It's too early. Later. After –'

Yeah, after she finished cleaning the bathroom. And got a grip on herself again.

.

As always the cleaning helped. By the time she had finished scrubbing the tub and polishing the tiles, she felt ready to face him again. Even if he still should be in gloating mode. By now she didn't care anymore.

But there was no need. Just as she left the bathroom to put her cleaning kit away again, Chandler came rushing in, panting as if he'd run a race. They faced each other in the kitchen and she had to struggle to keep her face expressionless at his anxious demeanor.

"Look, maybe I got carried away before. But there's something you gotta know. If I'm the best, it's only because you've made me the best."

She hadn't quite expected that.

"Keep talking ..."

Chandler spread his arms wide. "I mean I was nothing before you. Call the other girls and ask. Which wouldn't take long!"

She had a hard time not laughing at this, at his comical self-deprecation, and felt amazed once more by how easy it was for him to make her laugh. And be touched by his open candidness. When he came closer to her, still panting, eyes blazing, her breath caught a little.

"But when I'm with you - and we're together - OH…MY…GOD."

So it was indeed, with the earth moving and the angels singing, always, every blessed single time. For her. And for him too, how could she not have realized that before?

"Really?"

"OH - OH my God!"

That was what she had wanted, needed to hear. He hadn't lost his head and boasted about being the best of all, he was just happy – wildly, exhilaratingly, fantastically happy – about being the best for her. With her.

"Now, I understand if you never want to sleep with me again, but that would be wrong. We're too good!"

Yeah, it would be a real pity to give all that up. And just for pride's sake? And the opinion of her friends who didn't even know? Where was the sense in that?

"We owe it, to SEX!"

Now there was a concept she could relate to. Yes, there was so much they could still achieve, so much left to explore, and no time to lose any more. She put her cleaning box down and held out her arms.

"Well, if we owe it?" And she gasped when he somehow anticipated her and swept her up in his arms, exactly like she had wanted him to without realizing it. She loved being carried, swept off her feet and held tight, like a baby, like a treasure that was borne away … She held on to his shoulders, laughing and gasping.

"Oh my … When is Joey going to be home?"

"Well, I was kinda hoping we could do this without him" he said drily as he carried her to the door. And of course he was right. Time enough to worry about Joey later.

When she peeled off her gloves, he stopped her, waggling his brows suggestively. "Oh-no-no, leave the gloves on!"

Not a bad idea, if it weren't for -"But, I just cleaned the bathroom ..."

"Yeah, why don't we lose the gloves" he conceded and she threw them over his shoulder in the direction of the table. He stopped before the door and bent forward to open it, shifting her a little.

"All right, let's show them how it's done." Only to bump her head against the door at his next step.

"Ouch!"

"You know that wasn't part of it?" he asked worriedly.

"I know!" And she couldn't let it matter, not now. He proceeded into the hall and managed to open his door and carry her through without any more problems. They kissed in the kitchen and again in the living room, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders and closed her eyes, waiting for him to reach his bedroom and lay her down on his bed, and then himself on top of her …

But then he stopped just as he'd opened his bedroom door and when she opened her eyes, he was biting his lip, staring into the room. She turned her head and then groaned.

The chick was sitting on his pillow, busily pecking and scratching it to tatters. A good part of the feathers were already spread all over the bed and the carpet before it. But that was not the worst of it. The duck was standing on the middle of the bed, wings spread wide and the long neck stretched out before him, while he heaved and gurgled and heaved again … and then threw up before their eyes. Chandler gasped and involuntarily took a step back, banging her feet on the door post this time.

"Ooops – sorry. Um. Well, I guess the bed is out."

"Looks like it" she agreed bleakly.

"God, I'm an idiot, I should have shut the door …"

"What about my place then? And you can let me down now, before you rupture your back."

"Nope, I can handle it." And he did, carrying her bravely back to the kitchen and out into the hall, puffing just a little. Just before her door however he paused and his face took on a dreamy expression.

"What?"

"Just thinking – we should make this one special. Because you know. So how about the closet?"

"The closet? At the Perk? Now?"

"Why not?"

Why not indeed.

.

Ten minutes later she stood before the closet waiting for Chandler's signal. He had gone in first and she took a last look around the cafe to check that nobody paid them any attention. They were in luck, Saturday late afternoons were always slow in the Perk and there were hardly half a dozen guests around. The one guy at a table near the closet seemed to be totally engrossed in a magazine, never noticing her. Then Chandler opened the door a crack and she slipped in sideways, pushing the door shut again. There was no key, but Chandler had got a heavy box from somewhere that he now pushed in front of it. It was better than nothing.

The closet was rather small to begin with, 5 by 9 feet, and crammed to the ceiling with shelves on both sides. A little to the right of the door high up on the opposite wall was a small window and the wall under it seemed to be the only space free of shelves in the whole room. That was all she noticed before Chandler drew her to him and pressed against her. They kissed long and deeply, taking their time and she wrapped her arms around his waist, bunching up his shirt and t-shirt and molding her body against his. She hardly noticed when he steered her in the direction of the window and gently pressed her against the wall under it. Then his hands went under her sweater and straight up her back to her bra, opening it on the first try. She gasped into their kiss when he cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs across both nipples at the same time, and tore his t-shirt out of his pants to slide her hands up his back and chest. Then he bent his knees and went down on her, pushing her sweater up and kissing her on the belly and navel, while he teased the button of her pants open and let the zipper slide down. She pressed his head against her belly and dug her fingers in his hair as she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her pants, trembling in anticipation when he urgently tugged her panties over her buttocks and thighs and pressed his mouth against her mount. For a minute they remained like that, rhythmically pushing and rocking, until she couldn't bear it anymore and urged him up again. As soon as he was standing up again she tore at his pants and boxers and grabbed his penis as it came free. Panting he hooked her legs over his elbows, entwining his fingers under her buttocks to support her as he lifted her up and held her against the wall. After some more shifting and adjustments to get the angle right, she guided and he pushed himself in, slowly and gently at first, and then harder and harder, until it seemed to her that he was trying to hammer her into the wall. He slowed a little again when her mouth found his again and they settled into a more languid rhythm. Their tongues met and pushed against each other and then she opened her eyes again and stared unseeingly at the opposite wall and the door where a bit of light came through the cracks, marveling at herself and the wonderful craziness of it all.

It really was the best ever.

.

.

A/N: Don't worry, I know very well that they went for it in the closet twice and I don't intend to skip the second time either. It just seemed a good idea to have that one in Chandler's POV, so you'll have to wait for it in the next chapter, I'm afraid.


	5. In and Out the Closet

He hadn't kept count, but he was pretty sure that by now the number of times they had done it had to come close to the three-digit range – or already be well up in it. And every single time had been so amazing. Earthshatteringly, unbelievably, thrillingly awesome. No matter how and where and when they went for it. In her bed. In his bed. On Rachel's bed. On her couch. On his couch. On her carpet. On his carpet. On her kitchen table. On his kitchen counter. On his barcalounger. On Joey's barcalounger. In the laundry room in the cellar. On his desk in his office. Even in Ross's kitchen while he was out borrowing milk from his neighbor. In the evenings. At night. In the mornings. At noon during his lunchbreak. In the afternoons. Lying down or sitting up, missionary style, doggie style, rocking chair style, with her on top, wraparound, spooning, sideways, 69 … or standing up, like now. In their newest location, the closet of Central Perk's, on a Saturday afternoon. As locations went, he'd had better, but it was hard to beat it for the thrill of going for it while there were actually people nearby, just separated from them by a wall, who had no idea what was going on just a few feet away … He found it impossible just to wrap his mind around it. But then any clear thinking was pretty much out of the question once they got down to it, no matter where or how or when.

As always during their sex sessions they seemed to reach a point where it felt like they could go on forever, suspended in space and time, caught in the rhythm, unable to stop. The point after which he no longer felt his knees protesting, his finger grinding against each other under her buttocks, his ass cheeks getting cold as his pants and boxers slid down his legs down to his feet. There was just Monica, the pressure of her thighs on his waist, her arms around his shoulders, her mouth on his, her smell, her moaning and screaming, her trembling and quivering, and, of course, the inside of her, the hot, wet, tight, slippery, awesomeness of her, like nothing else on earth, and he wanted to prolong that moment, remain forever like that, joined to her, locked in that very best of all possible activities.

But then it ended, like it always did, always too soon no matter how long they were able to hold out, prolongate and delay. She had already climaxed at least once and was getting ready for another, when his own orgasm could no longer be denied, and he pressed her against the wall, shuddering and groaning into their kiss. She was grinding against him and pushed against him with her hips, and when he lifted her up a little more and changed the angle just the tiniest bit, she suddenly drew in her breath sharply, her heels drumming against his back. Then she slumped in his arms, slowly exhaling and shuddering, and he bent his knees a little to set her down and withdraw from her. As soon as she was standing on her own feet again he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, stroking her hair and back. Still panting they kissed once more, then he bent down to pull up his pants and help her find her shoes. She was already zipping up her slacks by the time he had sorted out his boxers from his pants and zipped and buttoned up again, never noticing that his shirt was still pushed back over one shoulder. He went to the door and removed the box, then tried to check through the keyhole if the coast was clear, cautiously opening the door at last and slipping out. Very casually – much too casually in fact – he strode back to the couch where their coffees were still on the table as they had left them, and sat on the easy chair, straightening his shirt at last. Keep it cool, man, like nothing's happened, this is all totally normal, all in a day's work. Here's a postcard, wow, really nice, yeah, here I am, looking at a postcard on a perfectly normal afternoon, right after doing it with my girlfriend against the wall like there was no tomorrow … He was aware of how contrived it had to look, but couldn't seem to help it, and nobody was paying them any attention anyway. So far their luck seemed to hold. And here was Monica emerging from the closet, just as overtly casual as he had been, sauntering to the couch with a definite spring in her step. She sat down without looking at him and bent forward to pick up her coffee cup. And suddenly he wondered if she had fastened her bra again or if she had left it open and loose, just hanging loosely over her breasts …

"Never done that before" she remarked studiously nonchalant.

"Nope" he agreed and then stole a look. Hmmm, he couldn't quite tell with that sweater, but it was possible. All of a sudden it became imperative to find out for sure. And not only that.

She turned her head and their gazes met and held. And he saw in her eyes that she wasn't quite done yet either, had in fact only just got going … It made him jump up as if something had stung him and hurry back to the closet, nothing casual about it anymore, and she followed him just as quickly, closing the door behind them and then grabbing him and pulling him close almost violently. He kissed her hard and pushed his hands urgently under her sweater. Yes! He had been right, her bra was still loose. The feel of her breasts in his hands, the hard nipples rubbing against his palms, made his head swim. She moaned and pressed against him, then suddenly twisted and turned around, bracing herself against the wall under the window and pushing her buttocks against him. For a second he didn't understand, then he got it that this way she wouldn't have to get out of her pants again, and moreover there would be no strain on his knees and wrists like before. He tore his zipper down and pushed his pants and boxers off his hips again, then pressed against her and kissed her on the neck and collarbone, helping her tug down her slacks and panties and pushing his swiftly hardening penis urgently between her legs. She moaned when he became fully erect against her and frantically started to rub herself on him. He stroked her belly and hips and then slid his hands up again to cup her breasts and knead them, rubbing her nipples while he pushed into her slowly, and she pressed her face on her arm to stop herself from screaming. He kept his face pressed against her neck, sucking at it just over the collarbone and breathing her in, the smell of her sweat and the lingering traces of her scent and shampoo. After their initial urgency they slowed a little, then picked up speed again as their arousal grew again, shifting and adjusting their positions and straining against each other harder and harder. Her breath hitched and caught and then she started to gasp and hyperventilate as her orgasm built up. For a moment he thought she was actually choking, but then she breathed free again, exhaling in one long go and almost slumping in his arms. He held himself back a while longer, until she had recovered somewhat again and assisted him with his own release. Then he let her go, bracing himself against the wall and panting heavily until he felt he could stand on his own again. And pick up his pants too without falling down.

She turned around again and kissed him, long and deep, and then pulled up her panties and slacks again swiftly and efficiently, as if she was just getting dressed after a shower or change of clothes. This time she fastened her bra again too. Long before he had untangled his t-shirt from his zipper again she was ready and peeping through the keyhole to check if it was safe to go out again. A part of him wondered if they should really leave again so quickly, what if the urge would overcome them one more time? But then they probably wouldn't ever be able to leave again, stuck forever in the closet and doing it over and over …

Now Monica opened the door cautiously for a crack, peeping out. Then he saw her stiffen and step back hurriedly, drawing the door closed again.

"It's Joey!" she whispered desperately.

Oh no. Oh no. Not that. Now they really were stuck here. Maybe until closing time, and then Gunther would find out about them – aw shucks, it didn't bear thinking.

"What now?" she asked wild-eyed. He shrugged helplessly.

"Let me see …" Yes, she was right, there was Joey sitting on the easy chair with his back to them, drumming his fingers on the armrest and gazing into space. Probably waiting for a date to arrive. Or the portals of heaven to open and a number of hot slutty nurses descending on him, bearing sandwiches … He shut the door again as softly as he could and took a deep breath. Just keep cool. It was just Joey. They could still fool him, if they just did it right, played it natural. He pulled Monica away from the door, deeper into the closet, and brought his mouth close to her ear.

"There's two ways we can do this" he whispered. "One, we both go out – wait! – and just say we heard something in here and were checking. Two, one of us goes out and distracts him. Or three – we wait here until he leaves."

"What if he doesn't leave?"

"Then we're stuck here …" She grimaced at that and shook her head. "Okay, I'm for option two. And I think I should be the one to go out."

"Why you? We should flip for it."

"It's too dark for that. Besides, I think I gave you a hickey."

"What? Where?" That came out almost too loud and he shushed her desperately.

"Shhh! Yeah, I'm sorry, but Joey's bound to notice, he always does."

"Then I'll tell him it's from my secret boyfriend. So?"

"Does he know about him yet?"

"Everybody does!"

"But he'll see that it's … fresh …"

She exhaled exasperatedly. "Alright, alright. Go out and distract him. I'll sneak out when it's safe. Just don't leave me stuck in here."

He kissed her once more for good measure until she pushed him away impatiently, then he took a deep breath and opened the door as quietly as he could. When Joey didn't move he slipped out and closed it carefully again, then strolled to the couch with his hands in his pockets.

"Hi Joe. I thought you were still at the telethon!"

His roommate started out of his reverie and turned his head to look at him. He was still in the tux – the vomitux he couldn't help remembering – but had taken off his bow tie.

"Chandler! Where did you spring from? I've been looking all over for you!"

"Oh, I just was – back there …" he jerked his head in the general vicinity of the back corner of the cafe and realized too late that there was nothing there – except the closet. Shoot. Joey turned his head and frowned.

"Where? But I looked there! There's nothing – ah, I get it, you were in the closet!"

"The closet?"

Joey grinned wolfishly. "You were, weren't you? There's dust on your pants. So what've you been doing?"

Chandler felt himself go hot under the collar. "Yeah, actually, I was … well – hiding. I needed to hide. There was – there was – Janice, it was Janice! I saw her come in and just managed to hide in there."

"From Janice? Had a close escape then, haven't you?"

"I'll say. She still thinks I'm in Yemen."

Joey guffawed. "How long were you in there?"

"I don't know, half an hour? How long have you been here?"

"Not long. Did you see any rats?"

"What? Rats? There are rats in there?"

From the corner of his eye he saw that Monica had opened the closet door again for a crack and thought he heard her gasp. It made him sweat.

"Are you sure about … rats in there?" Joey just grinned offhandedly.

"Well the last time I was in there – and I wasn't exactly hiding, and I also wasn't alone, if you know what I mean …" he winked and Chandler rolled his eyes "I saw a rat. It was huge too."

Chandler swallowed uneasily. "So – did you tell Gunther?"

"Na. Couldn't do that, not with my date there. It would have freaked her out. It was just a rat anyway."

"Ah. Um. Okay, glad to hear it. So what are you doing here? Got a date?"

Joey grinned blissfully. "Just one? No sir. When I did get on TV – finally after Phoebe called – they all flocked to me and wanted my number. So I told them I'd go out with whoever showed up here first. And now I'm waiting."

Chandler shook his head, thinking furiously. "Wow, good plan. But – aren't you a bit overdressed?"

Joey looked down on himself and frowned. "You think?"

"Dude, it's the vomitux. You want something like that to happen again?"

Joey seemed torn. "Shoot. You're right! But I can't leave now!"

Chandler racked his brain. "Okay – how about we switch shirts?"

Joey put his head to the side. "No offense, but don't you think your shirt will be too tight for me?"

"Well, you could try. Or ask Gunther, maybe he could loan you a shirt."

"Gunther? Na, I'd rather wear yours. Alright, let's switch, but we need to be quick!"

Chandler jumped up and headed for the toilets, only stopping when Joey didn't follow him. When he looked back he saw that his roommate had already taken off his jacket.

"Joe – you've got a t-shirt under that, right?" Joey stopped, looked down his chest and then got up, grinning sheepishly. "Thought so. Come on!"

They went to the gents and Chandler took off his shirt and handed it to Joey, suppressing a pang. It was one of his favorite shirts and he could only hope that nothing would happen to it while Joey was wearing it. It turned out to be a tight fit, but Joey still managed to close all but the topmost button and when he put the tux jacket on again it didn't look too bad. Joey apparently thought so too, judging by his expression. He put on Joey's dress shirt and rolled up the sleeves, wishing he had remembered to bring his jacket. But then Monica and he had been in quite a hurry …

"Thanks man, I really appreciate that." Joey rolled his shoulders and Chandler winced when he saw how strained the button holes were by it. "You're a real buddy!"

They left the toilet and returned to the couch, where Joey dropped into the easy chair again and stretched his arms over his head. Chandler gloomily decided that his shirt was most probably a write-off and took his leave, hoping that Joey wouldn't notice that he hadn't brought a jacket.

.

Monica put her head out of her door soon as he had ascended the stairs.

"Did Joey really say, he'd – whoa! Wow, you really gave him your shirt? Did it fit?"

"Unfortunately yes, it was the only thing I could think of to get him away. He'll wear it to shreds! I heard the first button pop when I left! That was one of my favourite shirts!"

She let him into the apartment and closed the door again, then drew him to her for a cuddle.

"Aw. Poor sweetie. I'll mend it for you. But actually I never liked that shirt anyway."

"What? Why?"

"Well, it just seems to me that every time you wear that shirt you act – goofy."

"Really? Because of that shirt? That's crazy."

"That's what it looks like to me!" she shrugged.

"Mon, I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of being goofy without that shirt. Want me to show you?"

"No! Please! I've had enough of that already, okay?"

"I know. But I just can't help it. Sometimes I just have to act … goofy."

"Seriously? Do you actually have to do that?"

"It depends. Do you have to act like your mom?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I don't act – I never - … oh god, do I?"

"I'm afraid so" he said gravely. "Sometimes you really do. I guess you just can't help it, can you?"

She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not like my mother! My mother would never do it in that closet with you!"

"Of course not, why would she want to do it with me in the first place?" That earned him a death glare that actually made him retreat a step and throw up his hands.

"Sorry. Mon, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to annoy you. You're right. I act goofy. And you're not like your mother at all."

She had crossed her arms and now gradually relaxed again.

"I couldn't do it anywhere with you if you were like your mom. Least of all in the closet."

That made her bite her lip and avert her eyes, and he found to his great relief that he could breathe again.

"Alright …" she said after a pause. "Speaking of which, did Joey really see a rat in there?"

"Oh no. He didn't. No way. He was just winding me up. There can't be rats in there, Gunther would never stand for it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! And if it makes you feel better, I'd as soon not do it there again."

"Yes, me too. Just imagine, if it hadn't been just Joey there –"

"Ugh! We'd still be in there. No, that was too close."

She smiled and stepped up to him, running her hands over his – Joey's – shirt.

"But it was great, wasn't it?"

"Oh yeah. Totally. The best ever. I never dreamed it could be that great. It was unbelievable! I mean you. You were unbelievable."

That actually made her blush a little. It always amazed him how much she loved compliments. Here she was, the hottest, most awesome, most amazing woman he had ever known who turned into goo as soon as he expressed his admiration for her. It made her even more adorable in his eyes.

"Really …?" Now she was smiling blissfully and it spurred him on even more.

"Oh absolutely." He spread his arms. "If I never had sex again, the memory would still last me for a lifetime. It was that great." Somehow it was still not enough and so he dropped on his knees before her and wrapped his arms around her hips, pressing his face against her stomach. "And I don't want to stop. Actually I can't stop. Ever again."

She laughed and put her hands to his face, pushing her fingers in his hair. "Oh my! I can't stop either."

"Really?"

She looked down at him tenderly. "Yeah. And I don't want to either."

"Well in that case …" He tightened his grip and got to his feet, bearing her up. She squealed softly and wrapped her legs around his waist laughing as he carried her to her bedroom.

"When is Rachel going to be back?" he asked belatedly as they arrived at the door. She just grinned at him mischievously. "Oh that's right! We don't need her, do we?"

She laughed and they kissed as he kicked the door shut behind them.


	6. Going Undercover

_A/N: By my count its two weeks between TOW Phoebe hates PBS and TOW All the Kips and I didn't really want to skip the weekend between altogether. And then I remembered a scene in _Stakeout_ (which is a really cool movie if you haven't seen it, even if it has aged a little) and the rest just followed, as always. Enjoy and thanks for reading!_

.

.

Another week. They had made it through another week. Without any more gloating or other annoyances, without nagging or admonishing, but with a lot more of really great sex, and all this still without being caught or found out. Now it was Friday again, Friday evening and week 5 had been completed and wrapped up for around 2 hours already. Monica would have liked to be home at exactly 4.15 p.m., their very own magic hour, but the chef of the evening shift had been late – as usual – and there had been nobody else to cover for her until he arrived. Nobody she actually trusted with the job.

She ran up the stairs and had almost gotten past the landing when she realized that Chandler was sitting on the stairs to the next floor, calling out to her softly. He had already changed out of his work-clothes, so he had to have been home for some time, but was in a coat and scarf, as if he'd wanted to go out again.

"Over here – hi, Mon."

"Chandler? What are you doing here?"

"Why, waiting for you of course. What took you so long?" He drew her down to him to kiss her, getting her to squat in front of him between his knees.

"Mmmh – that damn sous-chef was late. Again. I swear, next time I'll –"

"- cook him? Hm, what would a sous-chef taste good in?"

"Ugh, I don't think he'd taste that well. Maybe something that needs to simmer for a long time. Like Boeuf Stroganoff maybe. So what's up?"

"Friday-Night with Pizza and TV" he said wryly. "The others are there too. And Joey's date of the day. I told them I promised a colleague to help him buy a laptop and he'd buy me dinner."

"Excellent" she breathed, leaning in for a kiss. "So what are we waiting for? We have week 5 to celebrate …"

He took her head in his hands and brushed his lips teasingly across hers. "Mmmmh, so we have. Did you have … something special in mind?"

She laughed breathlessly and nibbled at his lips in turn. "Maybe … mmmm … probably …. mmmm … oh yeah … definitely."

That got him up in a hurry and he drew her up with him and steered her urgently towards her door. She opened it and shut it again behind them, then let herself sink against him once more, wrapping her arms around him and savoring their kiss. He responded in kind, closing his eyes and holding her to him, and then suddenly started to squirm.

"What is it?"

"Um … I think I sat on that cold stair too long …"

"Aw. Here, give me your coat."

She put her coat on the hook and then took his into the bedroom – just one careless time when they had left it beside the door for everyone to see had taught them to never leave anything of theirs out in the open again – while he darted into the bathroom. She took off her shoes, still debating with herself whether she should change already or let him undress her when she heard the apartment door open and froze.

"Monica? Are you here?" Oh my god, it was Rachel.

"I'm in my bedroom" she called out, and then sighed and went to the door. "What is it?"

Rachel shut the door behind her and crossed to the kitchen.

"Hi, don't you want to come over? We got pizza, and Joey rented Jurassic Park II. Ross is having a fit!"

She grinned a little forcibly. "Tempting, but I don't feel all that well, and …"

"Oh come on, it'll be fun! But actually I just wanted to pee, the birds are in the guys' bathroom again …" And she walked to the bathroom while Monica's jaw dropped with shock.

"WHAT? NO! NO!" Rachel stopped, still in the kitchen and stared at her frowning. Monica shook off her paralysis and almost flew across the room to stand between her roommate and the bathroom door.

"What's the matter? Why –" and they both froze and gaped as Chandler chose that exact moment to flush. Rachel's eyes widened and she started to grin with mischievous delight.

"OOOOOOHHH, is that Him in there? Your secret boyfriend? It is, isn't it? Well, well, well …!"

Monica hurled herself at the bathroom door and spread her arms wide.

"No! Rachel, no! You can't – you really can't. I won't let you."

"Aw, Monica …"

"No. I'm serious. You can't see him. And you can't tell the others." She heard Chandler rummaging around behind the door and prayed that he would think of something. Anything.

Rachel had crossed her arms and now tapped her foot, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Monica, this is getting ridiculous. Come on, just a little look. I won't bite him. I won't even talk to him. Just one little look. Come on!"

"NO! I SAID NO!"

"Monica! This is my apartment too, my bathroom, and I really need to – whoa!" She broke off abruptly when they both heard the key being turned. Monica gulped and turned her head slightly as the door opened a crack, not taking her hands from the doorposts. Then the door opened further and she heaved a sigh of relief.

"Alright. Alright. You can look. No, stand back! There you go." And she stepped back a little to give Chandler room as he emerged from the bathroom, closely wrapped in the shower curtain from head to foot, trailing some curtain rings behind him and with a large towel covering his head, making him completely unrecognizable. He even had had the sense to take off his shoes too – of all of them Rachel was the one who could recognize them by their shoes – and now he headed determinedly into the direction of the bedroom as fast as he could, only stumbling once when a shower ring got under his foot. Monica grinned at Rachel and made an inviting gesture to the bathroom before she hurried after him to help him maintain his course. Rachel just remained standing there, hands on her hips, staring furiously. When she snorted and stamped her foot in frustration, Monica couldn't help laughing. They reached the bedroom door and she opened it for Chandler and steered him inside, waving once more at Rachel before closing it behind her and turning the key. Then she leaned back against it, still giggling while Chandler took off the towel and peeled off the shower curtain.

"That was brilliant! You should have seen her face! No, shshsh, don't say anything, she could listen at the door –" They both listened for a moment and Monica thought she heard the bathroom door close, but wasn't sure. Chandler bunched the shower curtain in his arms, mouthing 'sorry' while he handed it to her. She put it on the floor at the door so it blocked the gap and hung the towel over the doorknob. Then she walked into his open arms and pressed herself to him, holding him to her and kissing him hard. They shuffled over to the bed and fell on it, never letting go. He drew her over him until she lay on him full length, wrapped his arms around her and in addition hooked his legs around hers until she could barely move a finger.

"You think she'll get the others ..?" he asked softly, his lips close to her ears.

"Shshsh, quiet! … I don't know. Maybe? Would they go for it?"

"Na. I don't think so. Joey won't, not if he has a date. Ross definitely won't. Phoebe might though."

"No, not Phoebe. She doesn't care about my boyfriends much."

"Anyhow, looks like I'm stuck –" this time they both froze as they heard the flush and she felt his body tense under her. After some moments came the sound of the bathroom door opening and then – nothing, as much as they strained their ears listening. Monica suddenly pictured Rachel listening at the door, and clenched her teeth exasperatedly. She really didn't want to believe it, but at the same time just couldn't put it past her. Suddenly had an idea. She put a hand over Chandler's mouth and tipped her head back, moaning exaggeratedly loud and panting. Chandler gaped at her, frowning and she grinned at him wickedly.

"Keep quiet and make me scream!" she whispered excitedly and took a deep breath for the next loud moan. Chandler smiled widely and then pressed his mouth against her neck, under her ear, licking and sucking the skin at just the exact most sensitive place. It made her squeal and squirm and he released his hold just enough so she could get on her elbows and knees, but not further. While she continued to wriggle and moan loudly he hurriedly opened the buttons of her blouse and kissed her clavicles and shoulders while he slipped the straps of her bra over her arms and fumbled at the catch on her back. As she got out of the blouse her bra opened and slipped down over her arms and then she moaned in earnest when he cupped and rubbed her breasts, pressing them together, holding them close to his face, kissing and sucking at the nipples. One of his hands slid down her side to the waistband of her jeans, opening the button and tugging down the zipper. Without even bothering to push down the jeans further he squeezed his hand under the crotch of her panties and slid two fingers inside her. It made her gasp first, and then pant and when he pushed his fingers deeper and curled them, she screamed in earnest. For a moment she could even forget about Rachel listening at the door, then it occurred to her how it would look if Rachel could see her like this, with Chandler going at two of her most important erogenous zones simultaneously while she was helplessly pinned over him, and had to fight the laughter that bubbled up from inside her. Her breath hitched when she tried for a deep moan again and she had to content herself with a series of short breathless screams that nevertheless sounded quite convincing in her ears. Then Chandler pushed down her jeans and panties with his other hand and caressed her buttocks, sliding his hand over her crack and the insides of her thighs, never missing a beat with his other hand nor his mouth at her breasts either and that was when she finally lost it, all thoughts of Rachel entirely swept out of her head.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it any longer without exploding he gently pushed her up and flipped her over until she lay on her back, squirming and still moaning, while he slid off the bed and tugged down her jeans over her legs one by one. Her panties came next and when she tried to get up to help him he slapped her hands away and pushed her back down. She lay back again obediently and closed her eyes, clenching her fists into the bedcovers and whimpering uncontrollably now as he slowly spread her legs apart as far as they would go, only brushing his lips across her vulva at first, his hot breath tickling at her labia. It made her buck and arch her back in anticipation, and when she wanted to grab his head he caught her hands in his and held them away, keeping her legs spread with his lower arms at the same time. Then finally she felt his tongue on her, in her, going in and out, stroking her, licking her, until she tensed and strained, screaming herself hoarse, screaming the house down, as if someone was killing her, killing her slowly one stroke at a time.

When her orgasm finally released her, he let go of her hands and started to take off his clothes, while she still lay helplessly on the bed, moaning and twitching in the aftermath, feeling wrung-out and limp like a wash-cloth. When he finally came to lie on top of her, pushing his hands under her back and shoulders to hold her against him, she barely managed to put her arms around him, let alone respond when he kissed her. Then she felt him tease at her entrance, slipping away and coming back tantalizingly, and finally pushing in, while she drew her nails down his back and almost howled. She spread her legs even wider and clamped her hands on his buttocks, pressing him even closer and deeper inside her while she kept her mouth on his, entwining their tongues until her breath gave out. They both panted now and then kissed again and he had both his arms under her while he pounded into her, harder and harder, making the bed shake and rattle under them.

All the time he had indeed kept silent except for some pretty hard breathing that turned into loud panting as his orgasm built up, until he couldn't hold it in any longer and let out a loud groan, his whole body tensing, before he collapsed on her, covered in sweat. She held him against her, bearing his full weight, wrapping her legs around his and squeezing the cheeks of his buttocks in her hands, straining against him until finally her own climax shot through her. And still she wouldn't let him go, but kept him over and inside her until her breath had stilled and the sweat on the exposed areas of their skin began to dry.

When at last he stirred, pushing himself up on his elbows, she held on to him and curled into him, when he rolled over on his side, pushing her face against his chest, tasting him, breathing him in, his chesthair tickling her, enjoying the way his arm encircled her shoulders and his breath felt on her temples as he kissed the top of her head.

"Mon …?"

"Mmmmmh."

"You think … you really think, they're out there?"

"Mmmh. Let them. I don't care."

"Yeah. Me neither." That made her giggle.

"I really hope they heard me. I hope their ears exploded. That was so good. You really killed me this time." She laughed breathlessly when his arms tightened around her almost convulsively at that.

"YES!"

"Chaaaanndleeer …!" He relaxed again, chuckling softly.

"Okay, okay. No dancing. But seriously, Mon, at the risk of repeating myself, it's only you. I never could do that with anyone else."

She smiled, started to speak and then hesitated.

"What?"

"Well – if I tell you, you'll gloat again."

"Ah. Yeah, I guess I might. But I promise only to do it when you're not around. That okay?"

She sighed. "I guess."

"Soo …?"

"Well … I never thought anybody could do me like that. Nobody ever has until now."

"Wow. Not even – Richard?"

"Why are you so hung up upon Richard? I had other boyfriends too!"

"Well, he seemed to be the best of them … wasn't he?"

She sighed and snuggled against him again, closing her eyes. "Maybe. But you can't really compare yourself with him. You're totally different."

"But was he –"

"Chandler! Okay, no, he wasn't really. He was – different."

"Different … how?" She glared at him, and then sighed again.

"He wasn't really good in bed – no, hear me out! At first, I mean. He wasn't used to it. He had been with only one woman before, and it showed a little. But he learned fast. In the end he was – really good."

"Wow, you must have spoiled him for every woman that came after you." She frowned at that and he hurriedly tried to correct himself. "I mean if he ever had another woman. After you."

"Oh, I guess he had. It's been a long time. I really don't care. And you shouldn't either. Why are you so competitive anyway?"

"You of all people ask me that?"

She laughed and lay back again. "Touche. I guess I can understand it, but … it's really pointless. Could we change the subject?"

"Mmmh. If we have to …. Okay, should I put the curtain on again when I leave?"

"Do you have to leave now?"

"Well, no … not right now. I don't think they'll miss me over there. And it would look weird if you came over now."

"Then you'd better stay here. You can sneak out in the morning when Rachel's asleep."

"But what if she told the others about your secret boyfriend and your brother's guarding the door?"

"Ross? Why should he … well, then you'll have to leave by the fire escape."

"Ugh. Let's hope it won't come to that. Mmmmh … wow, now we have almost the whole night together. When was the last time we had that?"

"I know. It's really nice. I wish we could have the morning too … Want to get under the covers?"

"Yeah … and, um, I know you hate it but could we have something to eat too?"

"I don't hate eating – oh, you mean in bed. Yeah, but I'm hungry too."

"We could always use the curtain …"

"No, it's alright. Okay, should we order something?"

He grinned. "How about chicken?"

She giggled. "Or the Joey Special?"

"Naw, they'll only deliver it to the wrong apartment. But pizza sounds good."

"Pizza it is." She climbed out of the bed and put on her bathrobe, then started to collect the clothes that had ended up on the floor and put them on the hamper. Chandler sighed and settled under the covers.

"But leave the curtain here" he said when she went to the door. "You know … just in case I have to go undercover again."


	7. Escape Plan

Monica had said 3 a.m., not before, and now it was 2.55 and Chandler was so antsy he could hardly stand still, let alone finish his coffee. He shouldn't have set his alarm as early as 2.45 in the first place, but then he had hardly been able to sleep anyway. And now he found that waiting for her in the kitchen straining his ears for her knock was driving him just as crazy as lying in his bed staring at the alarm clock, afraid to shut his eyes for fear of falling asleep again. Getting everything ready – the box of condoms, the box of tissues and the towel she still insisted on having handy, even though her period was as good as finished – hadn't taken more than half a minute either, and now there just wasn't anything else to do but wait. Wait and try not to wake Joey with his impatience.

Waiting was always the hardest part of their affair, and today was even worse. The last time they had been able to steal a few minutes alone had been Thursday night and that had been much too hurried and urgent to be really satisfying. After that everything seemed dead set against them to stop them from celebrating another completed week since London – week 6 in fact. Monica had had to work a double shift which meant they hadn't been able to see each other in the morning at breakfast, and he had an unbelievable amount of end-of-the-months report piles to deal with which kept him in the office until late. When he finally got home, Joey had insisted on a foosball tournament followed by pizza and endless TV and since he just hadn't been able to think of a convincing excuse, it had been easier just to go along. Sneaking around Joey was somehow getting harder and harder to do anyway. Right now he was getting more of a problem than Rachel who finally seemed to have accepted Monica's weird refusal to share the identity of her secret boyfriend. Once he was safely in Monica's bedroom, all he had to do was to ensure that Rachel couldn't recognize his voice though the wall between their bedrooms. And remember to cover himself up before he left too. But Joey was another problem altogether. He hadn't said anything so far, but it seemed to Chandler that somehow Joey sensed that something was wrong, by the way he looked at him sometimes with a frown, as if something struck him as odd that he couldn't put his finger on. He kept telling himself that it was probably just his imagination, but it was making him more and more uncomfortable. And last night, just a few hours ago actually, when they had finally gone to bed around midnight he had heard his roommate toss and turn – and snore too - for quite a bit, and he couldn't be sure if he was really fast asleep by now. But that couldn't be helped. If only they could have a night to themselves, with no delays, no waiting, no interruptions, just one whole night they could spend together in peace. A night away – that was something to think about right there.

Then it was finally 3 a.m., Saturday already for 3 hours, but still no Monica. Maybe his clock was fast? Maybe hers was slow? Maybe Rachel was still awake, or had just woken and gone to the bathroom? Maybe … Chandler almost forcibly stopped himself from pacing around the kitchen and risking to wake up Joey with it and took a deep breath instead. And another. Then he closed his eyes and counted to ten, then to twenty, then to thirty … Then he looked at the clock again. 3.01, and just as he looked, it clicked to 3.02. He put his mug on the counter and then, oh thank all the angels in heaven, there was her knock. 3.02, he would have to adjust the clock by two minutes then. But first things first, and he opened the door to let her in and chuckled with delight, when he saw her standing on the doorstep in her black bathrobe with a piece of the black negligee showing that he was crazy about. She giggled happily in return and they kissed eagerly, then he put an arm around her to steer her to his bedroom without any more delays. His body was already reacting to her, the feel of her lips, her breath on his face, her body under that bathrobe – AND the negligee. It made his heart beat faster and his breath stop short, let alone caused that weird feeling in his stomach which he couldn't get used to even after all this time, and his penis stirring and thickening in anticipation which he was actually very used to, but which was still thrilling. In his mind he was already busily mapping his moves after they had arrived in his room, how he would take off her bathrobe, but not the negligee, not yet, and then pick her up and climb on the bed with her, hold her tight, kiss her senseless …

He was so preoccupied with this that he didn't quite register Joey getting up and walk to his door. When he opened it, there was no time left for thinking. He pushed Monica away from him by pure instinct and gripped the edge of the kitchen counter with both hands to steady himself, gritting his teeth. Oh god, not this, not now … Then Joey switched on the light and blinked at them sleepily, totally befuddled.

"Monica? What time is it?"

"Uh, 9." He had answered without thinking and wanted to kick himself as soon as it was out. Fortunately he remembered just in time to push the clock out of sight.

"But it's dark out …!" What to say, what to say … eclipse? Blackout? The world ending? Fortunately Monica came to his rescue. She even remembered to hide that corner of the negligee, though it was fortunate that the perceptive part of Joey was still asleep, or he would have noticed it first thing.

"Well that's because you always sleep to noon, silly! This is what 9 looks like."

It sounded crazy to him, but Joey seemed to buy it.

"I guess I'll get washed up then." He actually grinned at them. "Watch that sunrise!"

And with that he marched into the bathroom, his eyes still at half-mast. When the door closed behind him, Chandler tentatively started to breathe again. Monica put her hands to her head, freaking out now that the danger was passed.

"I'm **really** getting tired of sneaking around!"

"I know, me too." It was fun, but too much was too much – and suddenly something clicked.

"Hey! What if we went away for a whole weekend?" He grinned excitedly, almost dancing in place. "We'd have no interruptions and we could be naked the entire time!" And do it, again and again, not just all night, but all weekend ..."

"All weekend? That's a whole lotta naked!" There was that sparkle in her eyes that he loved so much. Especially when he caused it. It put his brain into overdrive at once.

"Yeah, I can say that I have a conference and you can say you have a – a chef thing."

"Oohh, I've always wanted to go to this culinary fair that they have in Jersey!" Monica was almost skipping with joy. Time to put her back on track.

"Okay, but you know you're not though ..!" Her face fell a little, but she shrugged gamely. Well, he would make sure to make her forget all about the culinary fair right now. New Jersey though, there was an idea - but first things first.

"Let's go." And he tried to steer her towards his room again, but Monica hesitated.

"Wait! What about Joey?"

Right. Shouldn't be a problem anymore, but better safe than sorry … He went to the bathroom door and opened it cautiously. And there was Joey, on the toilet seat with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, fast asleep again. Just as he had thought. No problem there.

He turned back to Monica, shrugging, and she just nodded and then hurried to his bedroom, actually beating him to it. He followed her as quickly as possible, not even bothering to close the bathroom door again, and then they were in his room, in front of the bed, unable to wait any longer, to endure even the slightest further delay. As soon as he had shut the door they reached for each other in the dark, pulling each other close and kissing hungrily, and then they were already lying on the bed, pressing close, still in their bathrobes and not caring, fumbling and clawing at each other urgently. He pulled her on top of him and pushed her panties over her buttocks and down her thighs and she kicked them away and then straddled him, clawing at his boxers. He rolled around again and on top of her, pushing down his boxers with one hand just as far as necessary and then entered her swiftly, pushing into her blindly and without thought, never taking his mouth from hers the whole time. She screamed and moaned into their kiss, drumming her heels against his legs and buttocks and clenching her fists in the fabric of his robe. All the layers of clothes between them somehow only heightened their urgency and greed for each other. His thrusts became faster and harder until he felt as if it was getting out of control, as if he was a machine that could no longer be stopped, without brake or emergency button. Then her body arched under him, lifting him up with it, and she seemed to tighten all around him, locking him inside her, squeezing him until he couldn't move anymore, couldn't even breathe for a long, long moment until she collapsed again whimpering and moaning and he sank down over her, hardly noticing his own orgasm rolling through him. When he tried to push himself up, he almost fell down on her again, his arms too weak to support him all of a sudden. He rolled away from her and stretched out, panting and sweaty, with hardly any strength left to find and grasp her hand and entwine his fingers with hers. He heard her breathing beside him, gasping and almost wheezing at first, then gradually stilling and evening out. Finally she turned to him and hooked a leg over his waist, sliding a hand under his robe and t-shirt. He heaved himself around on his side too and they lay close for a while, just huddling and kissing lazily, too exhausted to even try to get out of their clothes. Only the muffled thump and startled swearing from the bathroom when Joey finally fell from the toilet, jolted them out of their contented reverie and made them cling to each other in panic, holding their breath and listening. Then they heard Joey shuffling out of the bathroom back to his room, muttering and yawning, and relaxed again as the door was shut and the bedsprings squeaked as he fell into his bed.

.

Much later that morning when Joey had finally gotten up and lurched into the shower, totally oblivious again of their nightly encounter, he set about booking their hotel room in Atlantic City. When it turned out that the hotel they had stayed at on their weekend trip with Phoebe after the birth of the triplets was full, he suddenly remembered a conversation with a work colleague about the Resorts Casino Hotel. It was awfully pricy, but actually offered rooms with ocean view and a lot of other extras that he thought would give Monica quite a thrill and make the weekend even more special. And if they went by bus and didn't go out for dinner, the total costs of this weekend trip would still be affordable.

Joey caught the tail end of his confirmation when he came out of the shower in a cloud of steam, but accepted grudgingly his explanation that he needed to fill in for a work colleague who had gotten sick at a conference in New Jersey. As did Phoebe who was still eating breakfast at the kitchen table when they went over to no. 20, in a rather striking long red dress. Over breakfast, Joey wolfing down everything in sight as if he'd had nothing to eat for two days, she told them how Monica had beaten Rachel three times at rock-paper-scissors to get her to go for bagels from Zabar's on her own for once.

Then Monica entered, cheerful and radiant, in a tight dark blue sweater that complimented her eyes - and some other things too - and a long tight bluegrey skirt that immediately had him thinking about the best way to remove it from her or at least get his hands under it and slide them up -

"Hey, guess what I'm doing this weekend! I'm going to this culinary fair in New Jersey."

He froze, his lewd thoughts cut off abruptly. Oh no, he'd done it again, and such a rookie mistake too. No way they would swallow that much of a coincidence …

"Oh weird, Chandler just told us he's got a conference there!" Yup, they were done for.

"Oh now that-that-that's funny, it seems like Chandler's conference could've been in Connecticut or Vermont!" Monica sounded amused, but there was an edge in her voice that made him start to sweat.

"I'm not in charge of where the conference is held. Do you want people to think it's a fake conference? It's a real conference." It sounded lame even to him, but to his relief nobody seemed to want to argue the point. And then Ross came in, in a nervous frenzy as usual and asking for Rachel, swigging his Pepto Bismol that he had begun to take around with him everywhere lately. Chandler wondered once more how many bottles he had gone through in the last weeks, and if he was close to bursting from constipation yet. It turned out that after two weeks of negotiating, hesitating, procrastinating and nerve-wrecking it looked like Emily would come to New York after all - meaning that things were finally coming to a head. And now he had to break it to Rachel somehow.

Phoebe got up to stand close to him and they all followed suit, looking at Ross who was staring back defiantly.

"Wait a minute! So when Emily comes you're just, you're not gonna see Rachel anymore?"

"Well look, I'm just trying to focus on the "I get to see my wife," part, all right?"

Yeah, like such tunnel vision would resolve everything.

"Wow, so you guys are, you're never gonna be in the same room together? How is that even gonna work?" Leave it to Monica to point out the obvious pitfall.

"I have no idea. I mean - but I assure you I will figure it out."

They all gave the likelihood of Ross figuring out that quandary some thought. This time it was Joey who voiced the obvious.

"Doesn't seem like it's going to work …"

And Rachel had to enter at that exact moment, with the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife, and they had to think up a plausible reason to leave the two of them alone together. He thought the idea with the mattress flipping was pretty neat until he realized that the four of them would be stuck in Monica's room until the latest staging of the never-ending drama was finished. Again. And what if once more they wouldn't get out until next morning, just like that horrible time two years ago when Ross and Rachel fought all through the night, forcing them to stick it out in Monica's room? He shuddered at the memory of how they had been trapped there for more than 12 hours without food (except the organic wax strips) and no possibility to relieve themselves. Joey hadn't been the only one who needed to pee urgently, he himself had been so desperate that they ended up sharing the bowl once they were back in their apartment.

No, he could not let that happen again, so the first thing he did was listen at the door to make sure they could escape before things really got ugly. But it was hard with Monica standing so close behind him, and then he got distracted again when Joey started rummaging under the bed, treating them all to the impressive sight of his backside.

"Hey, Joey's ass! What are you doing?" That was Monica, not too pleased with the sight of Joey climbing all over her bed. Chandler was amused at first, until it occurred to him that Joey might have found something of his under there and almost started to panic again.

Finally his roommate emerged again, with a big box that he set on the bed.

"Well, remember when they got in that big fight and broke up and we were all stuck in her with no food or anything? Well, when Ross said Rachel at the wedding, I figured it was gonna happen again, so I hid this in here."

To his surprise Monica seemed quite intrigued and not in the least disturbed that Joey had invaded her privacy so blatantly.

"Ooh, candy bars, crossword puzzles …" And how could she have missed the box under her bed all this time? Had she actually been this much distracted by him? The thought made him ridiculously happy again, and not even Phoebe's snarky remark could put a dent in that. He ventured closer to examine the contents of the box himself.

"What else have you got in here? Magazines, Doritos … Condoms?"

"You don't know how long we're gonna be in here! **We** may have to repopulate the earth!"

"And condoms are the way to do that?!"

But actually he was impressed. Monica had even found a walkie talkie. Granted, there was only one, and he was quite sure that Joey had accidently dropped the other into a sewer, but it was still good thinking. It also reminded him to make sure he'd packed condoms. Lots and lots of condoms. In case they did get out of there again in time to catch the noon bus and start on their naked weekend …

His thoughts were cut off again by Rachel's screaming which had Monica and Phoebe hurry out as one like two mother hens to comfort a stray chicken. Still, it got them out of that room, and a lot sooner than he had expected.

"Sweetie, we heard you crying, please don't cry …"

"It's LE POO!" Rachel wailed.

Phoebe put an arm around her. "I know it's le poo right now, but it'll get better."

Oh yeah. A lot better. Now they could finally escape. Hit the road. Vanish into the blue where no one would find them. Get away, get lost, arrive at the hotel and start on their weekend of doing it, doing it, doing it all night long. He could feel the joy bubbling over in him, filling him to the brim, until he had to force himself to keep a serious face and not start dancing instead. Soon, so soon. He could hardly wait. It was going to be so good. And once they managed to get away from their troublesome friends and be alone together in peace, nothing could possibly go wrong anymore.

Absolutely nothing. He was sure of it.


	8. Lost Weekend

_A/N Sorry, guys, this was really no fun at all to write :-( I'm afraid this chapter rather sucks, but there was simply no way around it. I hope you like it nevertheless, or at least don't blame me too much for making it so bleak. If I get a better idea, I may rewrite it again, but for now I'd rather move on :-) The next chapter will be more fun again – Chandler's chapters always are – that's a promise._

…

Monica huddled into the corner of her seat, wedged in between the window and her suitcase that she had put in front of the second seat beside her. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat and drew it around her, burying her face in it and closing her eyes, trying to shut out the cold draft from the aisle, the stale smell from the upholstery, the whining drone of the bus motor, the fact that it would take at least 2 more hours to arrive back in New York - but most of all her nagging and embittered thoughts.

The bus was almost empty, with only about half a dozen other passengers who had distributed themselves all through the carriage, leaving her with plenty of free seats all around her corner. It was too late for the families and shoppers returning from their Halloween outings and too early for the party folks who couldn't or wouldn't spend the night, but still a little more time and probably a lot more money. A lot of hard earned god money spent on cheap thrills, bad food and sloppy hotel rooms, blinded by the bright lights, the imposing facades, the hustle, the screaming advertising, the hollow promises of a thrilling and exciting time.

She hadn't wanted that at all, had in fact felt her first misgivings about their weekend escape as soon as she realized they were heading for Atlantic City and the Resorts Casino Hotel of all places instead of a nice quiet resort somewhere closer to New York, somewhere off the beaten track and hidden away, some simple place where they could spend a night and a day together, alone and undisturbed. Maybe she should at least have told Chandler that upfront or handled the planning and booking herself instead of leaving it all to him, but the task of reorganizing her weekend shifts at work had made her glad she could leave the rest to him, trusting in his good sense. That just showed what she had suspected before – his good sense was always the first thing to go out the window once he was this excited, this thrilled, in fact this high about something. When their cab drew up at the imposing front of the Resorts Hotel he had reminded her of a five-year-old on his first trip to Disneyland. It had been touching really to see that he had done it for her as much as for him. He had expected her to be so thrilled and over the top with it all that she had tried to play along at first and let herself be infected by his enthusiasm. Tried her best to ignore the arrogant clerk at the reception who looked down her nose at their scruffy baggage and Chandler's baggy sweater (if he had to go and book a room at such a pricey hotel, why in the world couldn't he have dressed up a little more?), the crowded and noisy entrance hall, the long face of the bellman, who had probably sized them up for tips in advance and found them lacking, the interminable queue in front of the elevators – apparently an ocean view room still did not entitle them to the use of the special VIP elevator which seemed to have been reserved for the use of The Man himself. But at least they caught a glimpse of him, yes, Donald Trump in person, and she was comforted by the fact that even if he had an elevator for himself, he still had to wait for it just like they did for theirs. Chandler of course had been ecstatic about it, and when they finally arrived in their room she had loved how he had jumped on the bed right away – with his shoes still on, but never mind - kissing her and shouting with glee.

"This is so great. No one's gonna come in and bother us. And we're gonna do it. I'm gonna do it with Monica!"

Who could resist that? She had resolved right then and there not to spoil that mood if she could help it, to shut out everything, every worry and misgiving behind the door of that hotel room and just enjoy herself with him. Enjoy doing it with him over and over. They wouldn't need to leave that room for anything, could stay in it all night, until late next morning. And she could partake of Chandler's joy, relax and concentrate on him and try to make the night as perfect and memorable as she could. As they could.

But then she had found the glass with the lipstick on it. She had just gone to the bathroom to smooth out some errant lashes that had stuck together somehow with her eyelash curler when she saw the glass and felt her spirits sink again. One little thing she could ignore. But this too? And there was more to find, the more she looked, so many little things wrong that added up to simply too much for her to ignore. The smelly carpet. The used soap in the shower cabinet. The fact that the 'ocean view' could only be enjoyed with a lot of head craning.

Chandler had just begun to be captivated by that dumb high speed car chase on TV, but had still been willing to go along, tearing out of that room so fast she almost couldn't keep up. But when after a long and weary wait in the queue, with Chandler fidgeting and grumbling, and a nervewrecking discussion with the same stuck-up bitch of a receptionist they were finally shown into another room and he immediately got glued to the TV again, along with that snotty bellman, she fervently wished that high-rodding idiot would blow a tire or hit a tree. Here she was, with those cheating bastards of the hotel trying to swindle them, play them for suckers with their crappy over-priced hotel rooms and sloppy service and she couldn't even get Chandler to care, although he had paid for the room in advance. She had actually seen him wince when that bitch at the reception presented him with the credit card receipt without so much as batting an eyelash. He had stuffed it in his pocket without letting her see it, but she knew it had been too much, even for a hotel this classy. And it really infuriated her how he still seemed determined to ignore the glaringly obvious truth, hardly listening to her in fact, and rushing back to his damn car chase before she was finished.

Guys. Was there ever any understanding of them? And on top of it all he even buddied up with that snarky bellman. That had actually hurt the most, that he had been so caught up, so insensitive to her issues, that he had failed to realize how edgy and close to exploding she was getting. In fact that moment had really been the point of no return, so that even when they had finally gotten an acceptable room, there was no way the weekend could be salvaged any more. Not with Chandler still bitching about his lost TV show and her 'room-switching fun', and then as the last straw, calling her 'Mom' to her face.

That was when she had snapped. And stormed out, unable to bear it anymore, the exasperation, the vexation, the hassle, preferring a fast getaway before her anger would really get the better of her and let her do some serious damage they would not be able to undo later. She knew it was no use fighting with Chandler when he was in this mood, he would only get more defiant and balky, and keep refusing his good sense a chance to kick in.

Now that she had cooled off a little she realized that Chandler had been under a lot of stress in the past days too, that he had been looking forward to that weekend even more than she had, and if she had been a little more patient, he would have dialed down eventually, come down from his high and seen a little sense. But she really couldn't stand that awful hotel anymore, and she was so tired of giving in, standing back, putting up with everything just for peace sake, for the sake of the others when she herself could not stand it. Wasn't it enough that she had to endure all that and more growing up with Ross, who always had to come first, always claimed all the consideration and pampering to his needs, leaving her alone with her bitterness and rage against the unfairness of it all? It wasn't as if Chandler was not aware of her ways, her obsessions. He had known her for more than seven years, there was no way he couldn't be aware of what he had let himself in for with her. And in the past six weeks she had always felt that he was well aware of all of her traits, her obsessions and quirks and accepted them as an essential part of who she was. Even was okay with it in fact.

So maybe this was a long overdue test, a trial by fire. Which had shown them just where their relationship was still wobbly, and needed more work. Unless he couldn't take it anymore, and in this case, since it was still secret, they could still quit at this point without serious damage, and without their friends finding out about it. It was all still between the two of them and them alone. Of course she hoped it would not come to this – she simply couldn't imagine life without him anymore and still thought they had a pretty good chance – but if it was necessary, if he left her no choice, then they still could end it, with no one the wiser, without tearing the group apart with it, with no public display of their emotions. With nothing more than just a lost weekend to write off, plus six weeks' worth of a good time, fun, loving, affection and unbelievable sex.

She didn't like to admit it, but suspected that she would miss the sex the most. She kept telling herself that it really couldn't – and shouldn't – be the basis of their relationship, that as amazing as it was it still shouldn't serve as a distraction or compensation of their relationship's failures and deficiencies in other areas. But it couldn't be denied, after all that time, all those six weeks, that their need for each other was still as overwhelming and urgent as in the beginning, as if they were hopelessly addicted to each other. The secrecy and restricted time together could be a part of it, but she was sure there was more to it than that. This actually made it all the more crucial for her to remain true to herself and not give in, hide herself, pretend to be something she wasn't, deny herself. He had become too important for her for that. If he couldn't accept her as she was, couldn't live with it, then it would be better to end it now and not let herself in for a life of delusion and lies and tears. It would be doomed from the start, and even the sex would not make up for it.

She shifted in her seat, gritting her teeth when her foot that had fallen asleep started to prickle unbearably. Why hadn't she rented a car for the return journey? She could have been almost home by now with a car. But she had been too upset for it, and moreover had balked at the cost. That reminded her, she would have to make sure to pay Chandler her share of the hotel room. Even if that crappy overpriced hotel had been his idea, and he now had perforce to enjoy all the benefits on his own. What would he be doing now? When she had rushed out of the hotel room she had half expected him to come after her and apologize or at least appeal to her good sense. But he hadn't and that had hurt even more. So maybe now he was still sulking, sitting on that bed and staring at the TV, maybe hurt and angry, or maybe hurt and just sad. What a dreadful waste.

Or maybe making a night of it with that bellman, drinking beer and eating pizza … She couldn't quite put it past him, but deep down knew that it was only her imagination. Joey would do something like that, but not Chandler. He would probably remain in the hotel all night, have a drink or two to get over his anger, and then try to go to sleep without her and fail. Just like she would probably.

But at least she did not have to spend the night in that awful hotel.

. . .

When she finally stepped off the bus and took the subway home it seemed already much later than it really was. In fact it was still quite early. They had arrived at the hotel in the afternoon around 4 and now it was not quite 9, but she was so tired from her frustration and worry that all she wanted was to take a nice hot bath and then go to sleep. If she managed to go to sleep without Chandler. If nothing else, maybe that fight had been worth it, just to show her if she could stand to be without him for one night.

She saw from the street already that the light in her apartment was on, and when she came in, Rachel was there, watching TV, and in just as foul a mood as her. It turned out that Ross' decision to break up all contact with her so he could make up with Emily had upset her so much she had stormed out, even though they had been in her apartment. She had spent some time with Phoebe afterwards to calm down, but was still seething. So much in fact it never even occurred to her to ask after Monica's day and why she was home so early. For which Monica was actually grateful, even if it rankled a little.

The bath she had longed for so much didn't help much either. She couldn't seem to get the bath salt mixture right, and then it was first too hot and then too cold. There wasn't a big towel left – it was high time for laundry again, something which she had kept pushing off in favor of time with Chandler – and she had to make do with a small one, which she hated. And then, in bed, she couldn't go to sleep.

Naturally.

At some point she considered calling him, almost took up her phone to call information for the number. But then she remembered that she did not know the number of the last room they had been in before she had left, and that and the thought of the bitchy receptionist and snotty bellman got her so mad once more, she abandoned the idea again. No, it would be much better if they both spent a little time apart, if only to cool off.

If only that damn Saturday was over already. What was it with Saturdays lately anyway? They seemed to be jinxed somehow. If anything bad happened to her and Chandler, if they came to a bump in their relationship, it always seemed to happen on a Saturday. Like on their first Saturday together in London, when they kept searching for a place to have sex one more time and were interrupted again and again. Or the Saturday after that when the triplets were born and they'd had that stupid misunderstanding. The Saturday they spent in Atlantic City with the whole gang to cheer up Phoebe hadn't worked out great for them either, there was always one or the other from the gang around and they just couldn't get some time alone. She had lost nearly 50 dollars at roulette that day too. And then there was the Saturday two weeks ago when Chandler had danced on the table. True, they had made up, and most spectacularly so, but had almost been caught by Joey afterwards, so it still counted. Maybe they needed to be more careful with that day.

That is, if there would be another Saturday for them together.

But there had to be. She only had to be patient. He would get over it, once his common sense kicked in again. He was bound to, they were both adults after all, capable of dealing with a problem and then moving on. She would go to him in the morning as soon as he returned and they would have this thing out, clear the air again. Afterwards they would make up again, and turn this lost weekend into a valuable experience for both of them.

She only had to get through the night without him. Somehow.


	9. Adult relationship

"I don't like fast getaways! I like car chases!"

But no one gave a toss about what he liked or not. The car chase was over, that guy on the run was dead, and so was his affair with Monica. Over and dead. Because of one moment's (okay, a bit longer than a moment) inattention, blindness, and slip of the tongue. No way he would ever be able to make up for that again. Not when Monica was this pissed. Six weeks, six unbelievable weeks just thrown away, lost, flushed down the toilet because a hyped up car chase on TV had been more important than the feelings of the best girlfriend he'd ever had. Great job, Bing. Might as well shop for some ratty old slippers and maybe a snake or a parrot on your way home and change your name to Mr. Heckles Junior.

At first he had been too mad to go after her and try to make up, then it was too late for that. For some time he contented himself with kicking around some things around the room, his duffel bag mostly, and some pillows, ranting and swearing, then he slumped on the bed, staring unseeingly at the TV and brooding. Not even the synopsis of the car chase in the newsflash after the Emergency Room episode could shake him out of his gloom.

How could he have let it happen? How could he not have noticed the warning signs? How could he have been so dumb? And why did that have to happen just when he had been so happy and on top of the world? Why? Oh yes, because that was always when he was most likely to screw up.

When the constant recriminations in his mind wouldn't let off, Chandler got up from the bed to check the minibar. There was nothing in there that he felt would be adequate to deal with his blues and he debated with himself if it would be worth it to order a six-pack of beer and/or vodka from roomservice – and risk facing the same bellman again who had dragged their luggage to all the different rooms and endure his pitying and/or gloating grin – or get himself down to the bar and drink his fill there. And have some indifferent bartender feign false interest in his loser story while he relieved him of the rest of his money. Or get out and find some liquor store.

But maybe she would call while he was away. She wouldn't be home for hours, but maybe she would try to call from some phone booth at a rest stop or a borrowed cell phone. Oh yeah, cell phone, a pity they still hadn't got them. He had meant to get some for them, but somehow had kept pushing it off. And now it was too late. He could call her at home later. But Rachel would be there – he couldn't risk that, not even now when it was all over. It was better if nobody ever got to know about them.

So he stayed in his room, that ridiculously overpriced room which he couldn't stand any more even though Monica had passed it, watching TV and drinking. The alcohol from the minibar wasn't nearly enough to get him drunk, only gave him an unpleasant buzz that stopped him from going to sleep too. It really seemed as if he couldn't get anything right now.

Sometime around midnight he finally fell asleep, still in his clothes and with the TV still on. He had kept flipping through the channels for hours, trying to get interested in movies, documentaries, news, TV series, even porn, but everything seemed dull and boring. Especially the porn. After six weeks of incredible mindblowing sex with Monica any kind of porn just seemed almost ridiculously tedious.

When he woke in the morning with a pounding headache and an incredibly bad taste in his mouth, and realized that Monica hadn't tried to call, his mood slowly changed to anger.

Just what had got into her all of a sudden that made her so fussy and caused her to drag him, the bellman and their luggage to ten different rooms, finding faults in each and every one? Was he really the only one to blame that this weekend had busted? All he had wanted was to relax, get into the mood, have fun, and he had thought that she wanted that too. Why did she have to go out of her way to spoil that? Why did a glass with lipstick and a smelly carpet (that he hadn't noticed at all) make the whole room intolerable to her when she had done it with him in a dusty closet and an old couch in the basement? How could he take her issues seriously when all of a sudden she got so worked up about something that hadn't bothered her before?

And after all this time, didn't he at least deserve better than to be abandoned and ditched so abruptly? True, calling her 'mom' had been a major screw-up, he really had let that get away from him without thinking, and she was right to get mad at him about that. But why hadn't she at least tried to fight it out instead of running out as if he wasn't worth even arguing with? Because he wasn't even good enough for her to have a fight with?

Because you're really just her sextoy? Guy #1 whispered maliciously in his head and Chandler groaned and put his hands to his ears as if that would shut him up. Oh please not that again.

Since when do you prefer fights to running away? Guy #2 just had put to put his oar in. You should be glad she left before she scratched your eyes out. All things considered you got off lightly.

Lightly? Hell I paid for this room!

That's what I said, lightly …

Chandler gritted his teeth, shutting out the voices with a will, and lurched into the bathroom to shower and shave. It didn't help his headache much, nor did it improve his mood.

.

When after a long and nerve-wrecking busride and a shorter, but even more unpleasant subway ride he finally got back to his apartment, putting down his duffel with a sigh and falling into one of the barcaloungers, he felt even more like death warmed up. That the barcalounger turned out to be Joey's, and sported an infinite amount of Rollos just where he never suspected them, didn't really help.

"Hey, you're back!" Joey came out of his room and looked him over. "How was the conference?"

"Terrible. I fought with - my colleagues, the entire time." Right, his colleagues in misery: the wall, the bed, the ceiling, the TV … He found another Rollo under his butt and threw it away in disgust as Joey winced. "Are you kidding with this?"

"Oh, so your weekend was a total bust?" Joey seemed genuinely sympathetic and Chandler decided reluctantly not to take it all out on his roommate.

"Uh, no, I got to see Donald Trump waiting for an elevator."

Joey's eyes lit up. "You know, at the Taj Mahal, he has his own private glass elevator. That's right. Made by Otis Elevators. And they usually don't do glass."

Inspite of himself Chandler was impressed. "What kinds of stuff do you know?"

And right then Monica came in. He might have known he wouldn't have long to wait for her, she had probably heard him come in. It saved him the effort of going to her – and the hassle of getting up the nerve for it before.

"Hey, you're back too!" But she had no eyes for Joey, fixing him with that cool blue stare of hers instead. If she had spent a sleepless night, he could detect no sign of it.

"Yeah. Umm, Chandler can I talk to you outside for a second?" For a moment he considered flat out refusing, staying in his chair instead, leaving her high and dry, but there was Joey to consider. It was only Joey, granted, but it wouldn't do to get him suspicious, even now. Especially now when it was almost over.

"Hey, how was your chef thing?" Joey persisted and Monica closed her eyes and shuddered.

"Oh, it was awful. I guess **some** people just don't appreciate really good food."

Right. Two could play at that game.

"Well, maybe it was the kind of food that tasted good at first but then made everybody vomit and have diarrhea." Take that and chew on it.

She hardly batted an eyelash, just motioned for him to go to the hall with her. Might as well get it over with. Face the music. Go down with flying colors.

But to his surprise there was nothing of that. No scene. No recriminations. Instead she just opened her checkbook, rather businesslike, her face unreadable.

"I'd like to know how much the room was because I'd like to pay my half."

He swallowed his surprise – and secret relief – and tried to assume the same businesslike air as she.

"Okay, fine, 300 dollars."

"300 dollars?!" That shook her out of her icy calm, if only for a moment. And yes, it was too much, he was only too aware of that, but just couldn't for the life of him admit it to her.

"Yeah, just think of it as 25 dollars per room!"

Monica clenched her teeth and wrote out the check. He debated with himself if he should tear it up right in front of her eyes, or put it away quite nonchalantly and just couldn't decide. There was Joey to consider after all. If only he could get to talk to her alone somewhere so they could wrap it up nicely and quietly …

As if on cue Joey put his head out of the door. He should have known that his roommate hated it when his friends had a fight. He always claimed it spoiled his appetite.

"What are you guys woofing about?"

"Chandler stole a twenty from my purse!" said Monica wildly. Oh great, where did that come from?

Joey stared at him in shock. "Nooooo!"

"I was only stealing it back, the one that she stole from me!" Well, he had to say something. Sweet Moses, this was getting really ridiculous. What had he let himself in for? What was this anyway, Kindergarten?

"Stealing and now lying!" Monica was really getting into the game and Joey, instead of supporting his roommate and allegedly best friend, stuck to her side instead.

"You know what? Now that I think about it, I constantly find myself without twenties and **you** always have lots!"

Chandler threw up his hands. "Fine. You're right. You know me, can't get enough of those twenties. I'm a sucker for them. Keep sucking them up." He turned his back on Monica and went back to the apartment, clenching his teeth. When he headed to his room however, Monica cleared her throat.

"Um, guys – Ross wants to talk to all of us, so could we meet in the Perk in half an hour?"

"Sure" said Joey. "What is it now though? Has he told Rachel yet?"

"He tried. She's still mad about it. So please take it easy on him, okay?"

Chandler shrugged without turning around, picked up his duffel and went to his room. Just as he shut the upper half, he heard Joey whispering 'What's with him?' But he didn't wait for her answer.

.

Ross had finally abandoned his Pepto Bismol and switched to Alka Seltzer. He looked almost as bad as Chandler still felt. Especially now after listening to Ross' endless litany of woe.

"You should've seen the look on her face. I don't want Rachel to hate me! I don't know what to do."

So apparently other people had it tough too. Bummer. Then Joey offered advice that wasn't really advice, and after Ross left for the bathroom, voiced what everyone was thinking.

"Man, if anyone asked me to give up any of you, I couldn't do it."

They all agreed, even Monica at first, though she could not resist another shot at him.

"Maybe I could do it." At least Phoebe looked at her unbelieving, he was comforted to notice.

Then Rachel entered, still upset and wound up, and promptly started obsessing.

"Oh my God, it's happening. It's already started. I'm Kip."

Kip? Where did that come from? Oh … right. He saw where this was going. Joey, however, did not, and needed an explanation.

"Kip, my old roommate, you know we all used to hang out together." Was it really the same though? He thought not, Kip had been a right old -

"Oh, that poor bastard." Joey nodded understandingly. Right, bastard. Or better yet, a real asshole.

"See? Yeah, you told me the story. He and Monica dated, and when they broke up they couldn't even be in the same room together and you all promised that you would stay his friend and what happened? He got phased out!"

"You're not gonna be phased out!" Monica objected heatedly. Of course not. But someone else might. Someone a lot closer to home …

"Well, of course I am! It's not gonna happen to Ross! He's your brother. He's your old college roommate." Right, and how much did that count when all was said and done?

"Kip didn't even have to be Kip. We handled that all wrong. It was a long time ago." Phoebe was actually talking sense for a change. Kip had really been a whole different story. He had actually expected Monica to put up with his cheating – **and** remain his girlfriend even after his marriage that he claimed his parents had arranged for him and he really couldn't get out of.

"And it was before you and me were around. They didn't know what they were doing. Chandler had a mustache for crying out loud." Chandler winced. His beard was still a sore point with him. Rachel was still not convinced though and persisted in her gloomy outlook.

"It was just a matter of time before someone had to leave the group. I just always assumed Phoebe would be the one to go." Phoebe's jaw dropped. "Oh, honey, come on! You live far away! You're not related. You lift right out."

That actually would make it easier for him. If he lived far away. Where he didn't have to see Monica every day. Didn't have to remember the way she felt, looked, sounded, smelt, tasted … every single time they would meet, until he was nothing more than a grumpy old man in ratty slippers, bumping his broom against his ceiling to shut out everything that reminded him of her existence …

"No one will have to leave the group if I can help it" Monica said decisively, and Chandler bit his lip. "Alright, I have to go to work. Don't any of you dare to phase anybody out without me!" And with that she got up and left. Great. There went his chance for a quiet talk still today. Sundays were always busy, and this was the day after Halloween, so she wouldn't be in until very late, and in no mood to talk then. He'd better leave it until tomorrow. Allessandro's was closed on Mondays between late September and Thanksgiving, so she would be free tomorrow. He could call in sick – he'd wanted to do that anyway, let someone else deal with the end-of-the-month-reports – and see her when everybody had left and they had the place to themselves.

To discuss the formalities of their break-up at their leisure.

.

On Monday morning he got up early and called his assistant, trying to sound as sick as possible. She didn't ask any questions, so he assumed she accepted his story of a Halloween bug, or maybe just couldn't care less. Since Joey would be around for some more hours, he decided to go shopping for groceries. When he returned from his round that included a visit to Jefferson Market – above all he liked their big shopping bags – Joey was still there, in his barcalounger watching TV. When he grinned at him gleefully, Chandler started to feel rather uneasy.

"Hey, Mr. Bing. That hotel you stayed at called." Chandler froze, unable to think of anything except, ohshitheknowsheknowsheknows - "Said someone left an eyelash curler in your room."

Someone, not Monica, just someone, but oh shit, he'll figure it out, oh please god no, not now - He gulped, trying to pull himself together. "Yes that was mine." Ooops, no, wrong answer. Way to go man. Joey frowned.

"Cause I figured you'd hooked up with some girl and she'd left it there."

"Yes that would have made more sense" he admitted crestfallen. Why didn't he think of that? Anything, any story would have been better than that!

Joey stared at him accusingly. "You know, I don't even feel like I know you anymore man! All right, look, I'm just gonna ask you this one time. And whatever you say, I'll believe ya."

Fair enough. Chandler took a deep breath and tried to brace himself.

"Were you, or were you not –" with Monica? Doing it with her? No, and he wouldn't actually have to lie. Unfortunately.

"- on a gay cruise?!" Chandler's jaw dropped and for a moment he could only stare at his roommate, totally flummoxed. The pause kept lengthening until Joey shifted uncomfortably and averted his eyes. Then they both started speaking simultaneously.

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean it that way, it's just that you've been so different –" "No, I wasn't, I can't believe you'd think that –" They both broke off again, gesturing for each other to continue, not wanting to finish themselves. Finally Joey waved him off.

"It's okay, man. I'm sorry I pushed you. You tell me when you're ready, okay?"

"Look, it's not that, it's just –"

"It doesn't matter, really! You can do what you want. I don't care! Just – just don't be such a stranger anymore, okay?!" Chandler wanted to protest still more, but then gave up and just nodded reluctantly, reminding himself once again that it really didn't do to underestimate Joey's powers of perception. They really needed to be more careful – oh what the hell. He. He alone needed to be more careful. There was no 'they'. Not anymore.

"Don't you have an audition today?" he asked, and Joey flinched, checked the time and rushed out head over heels. Chandler patiently waited for him to come back in again for his coat, and then once more for his script. When his roommate had gone for good, he took off his jacket, switched off the TV and sighed. Time to go to Monica's. And hunt out his sweatpants.

.

She was curled up on the couch, writing something on a notepad when he came in. As she turned her head to look at him and then got up, he thought he saw something like relief in her expression, and chided himself for allowing that false hope in. And then he realized he hadn't given any thoughts to about what to say to her, and immediately wished he could get out again and start over.

"I just came over to drop off…nothing …" Great way to start, Bing. That ought to impress her no end. He stuffed his hands down his pockets and shuffled his feet. "So that weekend kinda sucked, huh?"

She had her hands in her pockets too, gazing at him steadily. "Yeah, it did."

Was it just him, or did she actually sound quite friendly? Get it over with, man, no point in drawing this out. "So, I guess this is over ...?"

Now she frowned. "What?"

"Well, you know, you and me. It had to end sometime." At least they made it through six weeks. Six whole weeks. That had to count for something. But now Monica stared at him perplexed, as if he was talking Chinese.

"Why, exactly?"

Why? She was asking why? Because she had run out on him, because she couldn't stand to be around him anymore …

"Because of the weekend! We had a fight!"

"Chandler that's crazy!" Was that a laugh? Yes, she actually laughed. And came closer to him. "If you give up every time you'd have a fight with someone, you'd never be with anyone longer than — oohhh!"

He actually felt his jaw dropping, almost hitting the floor, as the sudden understanding flooded through him. Of course it wasn't over. How could it be? They'd had much worse fights when they had been just friends, and they had always made up afterwards. Why should this be different?

He smiled tentatively, still not sure of his footing. "So, this isn't over?" And she smiled back, oh my god, that awesome smile.

"You are so cute!" Yeah, that was exactly how he felt right now. Cute and stupid. And happy, especially when she went around the couch and reached out to him, putting a hand on his chest.

"Nooo! No, it was a fight! You deal with it and move on! It's nothing to freak out about!"

Had he been freaking out? Actually yes he had.

"Really? Okay. Great!" He still couldn't quite believe his luck, but then she actually put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed him, looking him squarely in the eyes.

"Welcome to an adult relationship!" And she leaned in to kiss him. She still wanted him. Sweet lord, she still wanted him, itwasn'toveritwasn'toveritwasn'tvover, they could go on, they - - wait, what?!

"We're in a relationship?" An actual, genuine relationship? She and him? The real thing?

"I'm afraid so" she said, quite straight-faced, and yet with a tiny twinkle in her eyes. Of course they were. Especially now, after they survived this fight.

He breathed in and smiled blissfully, enfolding her in his arms. **"**Okay." When they kissed, he closed his eyes, and almost felt the world around him straightening again, everything shifting to its right place where it belonged. Up was up again and down was down. No need to put on his sweatpants anymore and especially not those slippers. He felt her body molding itself against his, pressing close and his own almost instinctively answering her every move, their breaths synchronizing practically by themselves, their heartbeats mingling until he couldn't tell them apart anymore … When she broke the kiss to look at him, her pupils so much dilated her eyes appeared almost black, it actually took him a moment to find himself again.

"I missed you so much. What took you so long?" she asked, her voice even huskier than usual. His mouth dropped open.

"I … I thought you were mad at me."

"And you? Were you mad at me too?"

He stared at her, losing himself in her eyes. "You ran out on me. So yeah - but you were right. I was an idiot."

She sighed and nestled closer again. "Me too. I shouldn't have left. But that awful hotel – I just couldn't stand it anymore. And when you stayed there, and didn't call, I thought –"

"What?"

"That you couldn't stand me anymore."

"What? No! Of course not! Mon, this is crazy –"

She pressed her face against his shoulders, muffling her voice. "Yeah, I guess it is. Totally crazy. Why did that have to happen?"

"I don't know. It just did. But it's over. And I won't let it happen again. I promise." He stroked her hair and kissed her temple, and when she raised her head and opened her mouth to reply, he shut her up by kissing her again. And again. And again.

At last she pushed his head away from hers with an effort, breathing noticeably harder and only getting out her next question after a false start.

"Chan- Chandler, um, why – don't you have to go to work?"

"I called in sick."

"Oh. So then -"

"Yes."

"Ah. So -"

"Yes!"

"Umm … Oooohhhh …" They didn't even make it to the couch, hitting the floor somewhere between it and the coffee table instead, with Monica on top of him, squirming and moaning. He kept his mouth locked on hers while he fumbled at her bra fastening and jeans button simultaneously, only letting her go so she could get out of her shirt and t-shirt and shake off her bra. Then she was straddling him, panting and whimpering while he cupped her breasts in his hands and drew her down so he could kiss them and suck at the nipples. She pushed up his shirt and t-shirt impatiently and helped him to take it all off, and then tugged down his pants and boxers while he kicked off his shoes. Then her jeans came off, with her kicking and squirming under his hands, and finally her panties, which almost got torn as she wriggled out of them. He cupped her buttocks in his hands from underneath, getting her into position and gently spreading her labia with his thumbs before he pushed inside her. She shuddered and screamed softly at that, holding on to his shoulders and starting to pump her hips against him almost before as he was all the way in. For a long time they only fumbled and strained against each other greedily and breathlessly before their most urgent need was stilled and they could settle into a more leisurely rhythm. They kept at it like that until her breath started to speed up and hitch again, then he heaved himself up into a sitting position and held her to him, while she wrapped her legs around his waist so tight he thought he heard his ribs crack. He kissed her breasts again, licking the sweat off that had accumulated between them and in the hollow of her neck, while she threw back her head screaming when her orgasm hit. Just when he thought he could hold out a bit longer, his own overtook him as if out of nowhere, and he almost crushed her to him, bucking and twitching helplessly. Then it was over and he just held her, his face buried in her shoulder while she stroked his back and ruffled his hair, rocking gently to and fro.


	10. A Big Deal

He had come back to her. On his own impulse, without coercion, because he wanted to. Though technically he hadn't come exactly to make up – actually that silly goofhead had thought a stupid fight like that already meant that their relationship was over. But he had come to her nonetheless, had indeed come to her instead of moping around sulking and waiting until she came to him. True, it had taken him longer than she had thought, but she only had herself to blame for that. If they hadn't needed her so badly at work, he would have tried to meet her the night before and she – they – wouldn't have had to endure another night apart.

That night had been bad, even though she had worked very late and come home almost dead on her feet. And as tired as she was, she had only been able to sleep when she had promised herself to go to him if he hadn't come by noon. Or well, ten-ish. Sometime around that at least.

But he had beaten her to it, by a good half hour even, and he had been everything she had hoped – remorseful, sobered, reasonable, and mostly blaming himself for their lost weekend. He wasn't mad at her, or at least not so much that he couldn't tolerate her any longer, couldn't stand to be with her anymore. That she had been afraid of the most, that she had driven him off with her obsession and stubbornness, her inability to give in just so he could have a good time. During the long lonely hours in her bed she had convinced herself that nobody could ever stand to be with her for long, that she was really impossible to live with. And that her decision to wait for him to come to her was wrong, that she should have called, should have apologized first. That she had thrown away the best thing that had happened to her in years – hell, had ever happened to her – like garbage, kicked it away just because of a fit of rage.

But he had come and now they could go on, write off the lost weekend and take up where they had left off. Her relief had been so great that she had laughed a little too hard at his conviction that they had broken up when it wasn't a laughing matter at all. She had nearly lost him after all. But he had been so cute with his naïve belief that he had screwed up so bad she would never want him back. Of course she had wanted him back. If he could accept her as she was, still wanted her inspite of everything, she could do the same for him. Actually this was the only way this could work.

Everything was alright again. She had him back. They had made up, and sealed the make-up in their usual way – twice actually, the first time on the floor just under the couch and the second time after they had somehow found the energy to collect their clothes and stumble into her bedroom where they had fallen on the bed and picked up pretty much exactly where they had left off earlier. Now they were cuddling in her bed under the covers, with the room in semi-darkness due to the drawn blinds that kept out the afternoon glare. Chandler was resting his head on her chest, eyes closed, lazily nibbling at her breasts, while she played with his hair and stroked his back and shoulders.

"Chandler …?"

"Mmmmmmmmmhhh ….?"

"Are you sleepy?"

"Mmmmmh ... a little …. Why? Are you?"

She giggled. "A little …."

"Mmmmmmmh. This is so nice. So peaceful … quiet … alone … the whole day for us …"

"Not the whole day. Rachel will be back in … um, wow, five hours …"

"As I said, the whole day." He kissed her on her neck just above her clavicle and slid his hand down her side to her hip. Closing her eyes she sank back against the pillow and cradled his head against her chest while his hand started to roam again.

"Actually … I wanted to do some vacuuming … ah … and some … uh, oh god … cooking …"

"Really …?"

"Well, not right now I guess, but …"

"And what else?"

"Um. Actually I can't remember. Aaahh … yes, laundry, I really need to do that …"

"Laundry, huh? I thought we were doing that already … ouch, okay, yeah, me too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'm almost down to my emergency underwear."

"What's that?"

"You don't want to know."

"Oh. Well, if we keep pushing it off, I guess I will get to know it some time."

Chandler grinned and pushed himself up to get on top of her. "Okay, we can do laundry today – the real kind. But first the other kind." He slid his hands under her back and started to kiss his way down from her neck to her breasts and downward to her navel. She closed her eyes and buried her fingers in his hair, her breath-rate speeding up the further down he got, but still determined to draw out the foreplay to the last or at least until he couldn't hold out any longer. He had hardly arrived at her inner thighs however, his hot breath tickling her labia, when she started squirming and twisting already, drawing him up again urgently and wrapping her legs around him, her hunger for him, for having him inside her, and most of all feeling him push into her becoming too great. And of course he realized it at once and held back deliberately, teasing her until she clenched her hands on his back and buttocks, screaming with impatience. When he did enter her after what seemed like an eternity, it seemed it to her that he did it as slowly as he could, even drawing back again a few times until she was crazy with desire, screaming and shuddering, and at last pulling his head down and kissing him almost violently, mashing their lips together.

.

It had been a good day. A great Monday in fact after that disastrous Saturday and sad Sunday. They had made up. They had had sex. And more sex. And after that, yet even more sex. Great, hot, wonderful sex too each and every time. Then they had showered together, with a lot of groping and teasing of course, and had so much fun at it. Afterwards she had cooked them a meal and had let him help – or at least watch and feel her up while she cooked. After they had eaten they had rested a while, lazily making out on the couch and even napping a little. And finally they had collected all their accumulated laundry – which almost amounted to four big baskets – and gone down into the cellar to get it all washed. And made out a little more on the old easy chair while it did.

By the time they had finished and returned to their apartments Rachel had come back from work, in much better spirits now that she had talked with Ross and also managed to make up with Phoebe again who had been in a sulk ever since her 'lifting-out' remark the day before. After supper Chandler and Joey came over to hang with them, and she put out popcorn and cookies for everybody. Ross was working late, but Phoebe would probably come over soon, and then they all could have a nice game or watch a movie.

And later, after they had all left, Chandler would sneak over again for another go. Yes, life was pretty perfect again right now. Her laundry was done, so she had enough towels again, Rachel had calmed down, Joey had high hopes about the audition he'd been at the whole day, and Chandler was sitting right where she could look at him every now and then, exchange hot little furtive glances that made her tingle and prickle all over. Now if she only could find her eyelash curler to straighten out those lashes that had gotten stuck again …

And here was Phoebe, earlier than she had thought.

"Oh hey, Monica, I heard you saw Donald Trump at your convention."

Right, the only nearly positive thing in that awful weekend. "Yeah, I saw him waiting for an elevator." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Chandler start at that and frown, but there was nothing she could do about it. And that damn eyelash curler wasn't in her makeup bag either – wasn't anywhere to be found in fact. And she hated borrowing anything from Rachel, it only gave her an excuse to borrow - and then lose – things from her. But it was no use, she knew for a fact that Phoebe didn't have one …

"Hey, Rach, can I borrow your eyelash curler, I think I lost mine."

"Sure it's in the bathroom." Rachel said and right then Joey started to act really strange. The first thing she noticed was Chandler's horrified expression, then how Joey's eyes had gotten so big they seemed to almost pop out, just before he uttered little strangled cries and started flailing his arms about. For a split second she thought he was choking on popcorn – again – and wondered whose turn it was to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on him this time, then she noticed that he was pointing at her and Chandler in turn and it finally dawned on her what had happened. Oh no. Joey of all people had found them out. And Rachel and Phoebe were already staring at him puzzled and frowning, oh no, it was finished, they were screwed …

But then Chandler, bless him, swung into action.

"Joey, can I talk to you for a second?" He pulled him up and half dragged, half pushed his struggling and spluttering roommate into her bedroom. Monica shook off her daze and hurried after them, shooting an apologetic glance at Phoebe and Rachel still sitting bemusedly on the couch before she closed the door behind her. Chandler had tackled Joey on her bed and was holding him down, desperately pressing his hand on his mouth to shut him up, while Joey squirmed and fought.

"Uhhh, oh, ummmmoohh ..."

"Nononono …" But just as she arrived at the bed ready to take over, Joey stopped struggling and Chandler slowly released his mouth, a resigned expression on his face.

"Yes." His voice sent goose bumps down her spine, it sounded so unaccustomed quiet and serious from him. "Yes." He let Joey go and got up from the bed, while Joey rolled over and sat up, staring wildly from one to the other.

"YOU?! AND YOU?!"

Yes, oh god yes, and now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no return, no way out …

"Yes, but you cannot tell anyone! No one knows!" she pleaded anxiously.

"How?! When?!" Joey seemed close to an apoplexy.

"It happened in London." Chandler replied as calmly as possible.

"**IN LONDON?!" **They shushed him desperately, hoping that Rachel and Phoebe weren't listening at the door. Chandler again tried to explain as calmly as possible.

"The reason we didn't tell anyone was because we didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"But it is a big deal!" Joey was having none of it. "I have to tell someone!"

Typical. Exactly what they didn't need. They had to push him back on the bed almost forcibly.

"No-no-no-no-no! You can't!"

"Please, please, now, I know this is hard ..." she begged.

"It is! It hurts." Joey stared at her reproachfully. Oh god, how could they shut him up? It wasn't fair, they had been so careful! Well, almost.

"We know. Please? Please?!" she pleaded with him. "We just don't want to deal with telling everyone, okay? Just promise you won't tell!" Maybe Joey in the know wouldn't be such a bad thing after all, once they convinced him to keep quiet. At least now he seemed ready to consider it at least, though he was still struggling hard with the concept, hitching his breath and wringing his hands. But finally -

"All right!" Oh thank god, they had done it. She saw Chandler's shoulders slump with relief and knew exactly how he felt. Joey looked them over again and shook his head.

"Man, this is unbelievable! I mean, it's **great**, but …"

Yes it was. She saw a huge smile appearing on Chandler's face at that and her heart almost gave out.

"I know, it's great!" She walked right into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck, her body molding into his as they kissed. It was unbelievable, it was great, it was a big deal, and it was also right. So very right.

"Aww, I don't want to see that!" Joey protested half-heartedly. Well, he would have to get used to it now, like it or not. They even took their time over the kiss – after all it had to be at least three hours since their last one – and somehow it even added to the thrill to have Joey watching and making faces at them.

"Hey, you two, cut it out, will you?" He actually glowered at them, putting his hands on his hips, and that made her break the kiss, though very reluctantly. Chandler kept her close and she snuggled against him.

"Sorry Joe." Of course even Joey could see that Chandler wasn't sorry at all. If anything his wide grin belied the fact, and the way he kept squeezing her arm. Joey scowled at them.

"Look at you two! Man, I can't believe it. It's been what, two months?"

"Six weeks" they said together in a perfect chorus and then laughed, gazing at each other besotted while Joey threw up his arms in despair.

"Six weeks! For six weeks you've been – you had – you did and you – oh my god! And no one noticed? No one knows?!"

"Sshhhh, not so loud! Keep it down, will you? No, nobody knows yet. Except you now."

"Oh man ..!" he groaned. "But why?"

"Why? What do you mean?" she asked innocently. Joey threw up his hands again.

"Why now? You were friends for so long, why – how – I really don't get it!"

"That's okay, Joe." Chandler was trying hard to keep a straight face. "I don't get it either." He looked down at her smiling and she smiled back. "Yeah, me neither."

Joey spluttered and put his hands to his head. "But come on ..." But she cut him short. "I really think we should discuss this later, okay? Phoebe and Rachel are waiting, and Joey – they cannot know about us, okay? Please?"

When they emerged from the bedroom again, Phoebe and Rachel were still sitting on the couch, seemingly unconcerned, their faces carefully blank, although they must have been bursting with curiosity. Neither of them asked though and neither Chandler nor Joey offered any explanation. Joey kept his eyes down in fact and dropped heavily into his chair again, with Chandler hovering anxiously nearby. It almost got too much for her and she hurried into the bathroom with a mumbled excuse, biting her lips to keep from giggling.

In the bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror, taking deep breaths to calm herself. They had been found out. Their little bubble of secrecy and hiding had been burst. They were no longer the only ones in the know, now someone else knew about them, would watch and judge them from a third person's perspective. Their affair was no longer their own, to do with as they pleased, continue or end it at their leisure. Whatever they did, they would have to explain and justify to Joey who was now a part of it. It was as scary a thought as it was liberating too. And somehow it even added weight and meaning to their relationship, made it more real. Especially after they had come so close to ending it on that fateful weekend.

When she felt calm enough to face the others again and left the bathroom, Phoebe had gotten a round of Mad Libs going, and was already scribbling on her pad with gusto. Monica took up her pad and sat on the easy chair that Joey had vacated, where she could steal furtive glances at Chandler who sat next to her at the near end of the couch. But as much as she loved Mad Libs – or any game they all played together – she was still too upset to enjoy it now. In fact all she wanted now was to be alone with Chandler again, to talk about Joey finding them out with him, and of course, do other things … Her eyes met Chandler's once more for just a short hot moment and she was sure that he was thinking along the same lines.

And Phoebe cheerfully making up her own rules of the game didn't make it easier for her to enjoy it.

"The most popular Phoebe in tennis is called the overhand Phoebe. And if you win, you must slap your opponent on the Phoebe and say, 'Hi, Phoebe!'"

And just why did everybody have to laugh and go along when she had it all wrong? Did she really have to endure all that when it wasn't even played right – oh, wait, there was an idea.

"Oh that's cute! We really all enjoyed it." She smiled as pleasantly as possible. "But you know, it doesn't count." When she caught Chandler's glance she quickly winked at him, praying that he would understand.

"Count for what?" Phoebe actually looked blank.

"Count in our heads as - as good Mad Libs."

Chandler made a face and got up, putting down his pad, and the others followed suit.

"I guess I'm done." "Fun's over!" Even Rachel sighed and headed for the door. Monica tried her best to appear agitated, while secretly heaving a sigh of relief.

"Wait-wait, guys! If we follow the rules, it's still fun **and** it means something!"

But they all took off as one, trudging out the door and leaving her alone. Just as she had hoped.

"Guys, rules are good! Rules help control the fun!" Just in case they still could hear her, she threw down her pad and sighed loudly – seemingly with frustration, but really with relief.

.

Much later that night she was with Chandler in his bedroom when Joey came back and after a while knocked on the door.

"Um, guys …?" Chandler sighed and rolled his eyes, getting up reluctantly.

"What is it Joe?" He put on his bathrobe while Monica wrapped the covers around her.

"Um, nothing, but – could you turn it down … just a little … I mean –"

Chandler opened the top half of the door and glared at his roommate. "Turn down what?!" Joey caught sight of Monica and actually had the grace to blush.

"I mean, I'm just trying to sleep …" he mumbled, cringing under Chandler's sardonic look. There was a heavy pause and then Chandler sighed and turned to his nightstand, getting something out of the top drawer and handing it over.

"Here you are, Joey. Try those."

"What's that?!"

"Ear plugs" said Chandler while Monica started to giggle helplessly. "Trust me, they really work. Oh, and you're welcome to them. Sleep tight." And with that he closed the door again.


End file.
